Science, Love, and the Travels of Voyager - A poorly-done title
by AQLM
Summary: Kathryn Janeway, Captain of Voyager, has spent five years in the delta quadrant alone. Now, though, she finds herself attracted to a heretofore unknown member of her crew, Mileena Irae. Contains a novel character that isn't a Mary Sue, lesbian themes, actual science fiction, and buckets and buckets of slow-moving plot.
1. Chapter 1

Note for readers: I have figured out how to do line breaks. Things are better now. I'm sorry for the mess in the past!

"May I join you, captain?"

Kathryn Janeway, the esteemed and beleaguered of late captain of the Federation Starship Voyager, looked up from her tray of unidentifiable mixed greens into a pair of twinkling blue eyes. She repressed a sigh of resignation and gestured wanly with a fork towards the chair opposite hers. Apparently, her quiet lunch was to be interrupted for the fourth day straight, though she had only herself to blame. She could peacefully luncheon in her ready room if she spent her replicator rations on something other than an endless torrent of black coffee. It was enough of a necessity that she had considered adding it to the relatively boring perks of being the captain of the ship.

Oblivious to the captain's ambivalence at her presence, the young woman slid her tray into place and sat primly on the chair. She rested her elbows on the table, plopped her chin on her folded fingers, and gazed expectantly at her superior officer.

"Ensign...Powell," said Janeway, briefly fumbling for the name. "What is our topic for today?"

A pleased smile spread across the girl's freckled face and Janeway felt a twinge of shame. Among the younger crew, even those in the Maquis, a favoring glance from the captain was something that brought pride. Having a name remembered was steps away from a commendation.

_Be kind, Kathryn, _she chided herself. _They're all looking to you. Always. Even during yet another atrocious meal._

"I believe we left off at the historical dynamics between the Kazon and the Trabe in the early part of the 2300's, starting with the massacre at the Karlin mines."

Janeway tried to look thoughtful, masking her inability to recall even the barest details of their previous conversations. The young woman finally perceived the deception and quickly tried to compensate to help Janeway save face.

"Or we can discuss, er-" she began flusteredly. A hint of panic crept across her face and she ran a hand through her short chestnut hair nervously.

"Don't worry, Ensign," Janeway said with a self-deprecating grin. "Why not bring me up to speed?"

The girl's happy expression reappeared, though it seemed strained, and she began explaining one of the triggering events of the Kazon rebellions. How many times, Janeway wondered, had she asked this poor crewman to repeat this very story? Certainly often enough that perhaps the Ensign was humoring her rather than the other way around.

A few forkfuls of salad later, the conversation was caught up enough that Janeway felt she could contribute, at least superficially. But before she could add anything more substantial, something behind the captain caught the ensign's eye.

While the ensign had looked on the captain with happiness, whatever she saw caused her face to erupt with unbridled glee. Curious, Janeway turned around, expecting to see something akin to a birthday cake topped with a wormhole back to the alpha quadrant. Instead, she saw a slim, blue-clad officer half-stumble into the cafeteria and absently, though politely, request an overlarge helping of Neelix's cuisine. He said something affable, patted her hand, and returned to brewing the remainder of his food.

"Mileena! 'Leena, over here," called Ensign Powell, who then turned to Janeway with a sudden look of muted horror. "If, of course, you don't mind, captain," she added quickly.

"Go right ahead, Ensign. I fear I've not been the best company today," Janeway said calmly. Perhaps the two young women would entertain each other enough for her to finish her lunch and flee back to the bridge.

The second young woman approached the table and delicately set down her tray, though she remained standing in the presence of her captain. Janeway looked at her thoughtfully and realized she'd never interacted with this ensign before. Their new guest towered over the sitting pair, a few long onyx curls threatening to flee out of its holder onto her copper brown skin. That is, if its owner didn't collapse first. Janeway noted a familiar set of dark rings around the young woman's pale yellow eyes; she saw them all too often in her own mirror, encircling her blue-grey irises. Indeed, the young woman appeared to be swaying gently until Janeway intervened.

"At ease, ensign. Please, sit down."

"Thank you, captain," came the softly rasped reply. She let herself slowly into the chair that Ensign Powell had procured and went to pick up a spoon when her hand was suddenly trapped under the palm of the other girl.

"You're here. You're actually here. Does that mean," the young woman trailed off hopefully, then restarted when she received no reply. "Does it mean that it's working?"

A smoldering glimmer appeared in those tired eyes, intriguing even the captain, but the ensign shook her head. "I have twenty minutes left on the timer I've been running since 0600 hours. It's better for me to be here than staring blankly at a console. At least, that's what Neelix tells me."

Ensign Powell squeezed her hand affectionately. "He's right, you know. It's not good for you to be alone in the lab all the time." The other woman managed a weak smile and stirred the green-grey food on her plate with her free hand, drawing a face in it with the tip of her fork before scooping it unsteadily into her mouth.

Janeway was puzzled. Most of the scientists were assigned to astrometrics or stellar cartography, neither of which were known for being especially empty. In fact, she'd had more than one complaint from the Doctor or Seven for the almost carnival atmosphere that the physicists would occasionally summon.

"Ensign, excuse me, I don't think I got your name," Janeway interrupted.

"My apologies. Ensign Mileena Irae. Proteomics," she added without being prompted.

Janeway's confusion deepened. Proteomics? Since when did the crew have a dedicated biology lab?

The young woman anticipated her questions and continued. "I was assigned to Voyager to help monitor the bioneural circuitry and to act as an adjunct to engineering. My specialty is dynamic systems-" She paused. "But, I interrupted your conversation. Tell me, what are we discussing today, Lauren? Talaxian physiology? Again?"

The other ensign didn't miss a beat. "Nope, we're doing Kazon history." She grinned at both of her lunch companions.

"A fascinating topic," added Janeway evenly.

"Mm, not quite," said Ensign Irae, between hasty bites. "Lauren, is it really appropriate to drag the poor captain into yet another of your hobbies?"

The freckled, rosy-skinned girl took a plaintive tone. "But it's boring in transporter room three. All I can do is read." She turned her face towards the captain and blushed. "Not that I mind, ma'am. It's far better than scrubbing the Jefferies tubes with a sonic toothbrush."

Any sort of retort that Janeway would have made was clipped off by a beeping from Ensign Irae. She looked a bit mortified and tapped a shining device on her wrist. "And that would be twenty minutes." She cast a longing glance towards her plate and stood up, inclining her head slightly towards the remaining two women, not waiting to be properly dismissed.

"My apologies. I must return."

"But you just started," protested Ensign Powell. "You need to eat!"

"I will. Later," she shrugged.

As she lifted her tray, the brown-haired Ensign reached out once more towards her crewmate. "But you'll join us tonight, right? 21:00 hours in the holodeck? Please?"

"If I can," said the departing young woman non-committally, then turned around to deposit her tray in the replicator before disappearing into the hall.

Ensign Powell sunk her hands into her cupped palms. "Ugh, which means she won't show up, again, and we'll need to send the Doctor after her to make her get some sleep. Again." She dragged her hands down again and sagged in front of the captain. "I'm so sorry, captain. It seems I've cluttered your lunch. I do appreciate it, though," she said, dejection furrowing her otherwise smooth face. She too stood and cleaned her materials off the table.

The captain allowed a curt nod. "It is good to see my crewmembers caring for each other. Dismissed." The freckled engineer nearly fled out of the cafeteria.

Janeway was privately amused. She'd found the entire exchange very informative. For one, she would need to find some way of doubling the duties of the transporter operators. And second, she had apparently located someone who was nearly as much of a workaholic as she was. It was as much comforting as depressing to know that someone was subjecting themselves to that sort of torture.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Mileena Irae reached deck seven and broke out into a sprint. There'd been a hold-up in the turbolift, something about a broken coupling on deck eight, and now she was 2.15 minutes late on the timer: potentially enough to waste a whole day's worth of experimental materials. She swung around the bulkhead, not noticing the crewmembers who pressed themselves against the grey walls for fear of being mowed down by the panicking scientist.

She slammed a few commands into the control panel outside of the door, then flung herself through the doors of the lab. Still in motion, she shouted towards the back kiosk. "Deactivate containment field and release security protocol. Authorization Irae gamma six two. Reinitialize in three seconds."

"Acknowledged," replied the computer.

She darted through the opening as the field sprang back behind her with a jolt of blue and a faint zap. With trembling hands, she removed a set of clear thermoplastic polymer plates from a glowing incubation tray and uncovered each one on the scuffed metal bench. As almost an afterthought, she pounded on the cover, stilling the flickering images within.

"Computer, initialize sterilizing pulse at one second intervals for 30 seconds."

A mild alarm sounded. "Warning. Radiation pulse is hazardous to organic life."

"That's the point," she muttered, low enough for the computer to ignore. "Proceed." At the last moment, she grabbed a set of IR- and UV-screening goggles and slipped them on before she was temporarily blinded.

The lights dimmed slightly and Mileena felt her skin warm uncomfortably as she laid out a series of carefully-labeled vials. Being in the same room as the sterilizing radiation was never a good idea, but she was pressed for time and a little increase in her risk of tumors was an acceptable cost. She uncapped each plate and swiftly injected the liquids into each. A wash of greens and reds spread across six of them. The seventh emitted a sad puff of smoke before turning a pale gray.

"Dammit," she whispered, then put the remaining trays into another intricate bank of machines.

"Computer, initiate spectroscopy and real-time imaging scans alpha through delta at .005 ms intervals. Display on the far console."

"Acknowledged. Analysis commencing."

Mileena paused and tried to catch her breath. Within seconds, she'd know if she'd overgrown the other samples to unusability, meaning she'd get to start over and wait another twenty hours for the samples to reach the appropriate stage. Leaning heavily on the counter, she wished once again to be back at her lab in the Daystrom institute, where there were gleaming robotic arms and a bevy of eager helpers whose only jobs were to push cells from place to place. Here, though, it was only her...and occasionally the Doctor, whose aid usually came at the cost of scathing commentary.

"I'm a doctor, not a lab assistant," he would say in that clipped, perpetually insulting tone.

Certainly not worth the aggravation today, especially since she was just rerunning a week-old simulation.

The hum of the sterilizer ceased and she slipped off the goggles, tossed them on their hook, then closed her pale yellow eyes. She let her head slump forward as she gripped the edge of the lab bench for stability. It was tempting to nod off, just for a moment, but she couldn't risk being late for the biweekly meeting with the Commander. She didn't necessarily mind the briefings, even though they rarely worked as she wanted. She'd give a report, he'd ask some questions, and they'd have some intellectual discourse. Then, they'd banter a little about the ship and its goings on. It was surprisingly relaxed for a formal meeting with a superior officer, she realized, especially given what Lauren told her of the stern and uncomfortable meetings she was forced to endure. On the other hand, he has been her only direct report for the entirety of Voyager's time in the Delta Quadrant. She spent more time around him than she would otherwise, which gave them the opportunity to develop a sort of professional rapport. Well that and his guilt about needing to end every session in the same way. His brown face would go grim, he'd tap his padd a few times, and decline most of the requests for equipment and personnel. They'd part ways and she'd return to her lab to sulk.

She shook it off and straightened up again. No, fatalistic thoughts were completely superfluous at the moment. With anticipation, she gazed at the monitor and tapped in a few commands at the neighboring console. Another screen sprang to life and began assembling the images into a stunningly illuminated animation. For the first time in almost 48 hours, a legitimate grin broke across her face. The samples were not overgrown. They'd reached appropriate maturity...well, all except the one that chose to die early. That would need to be autopsied at a later time. She shifted her eyes towards it and gave it a glare, mentally accusing it of betrayal before acknowledging that a vendetta against a dish of tissue was likely a sign of mental collapse.

The computer alerted her to the completion of its task. Mileena compiled the data, dropped the field once again, and went out into the main section of the lab. Reinitializing the field, she sat down with a thump into one of the scorched chairs and prepared her report. The samples had demonstrated significant structured growth, commencing in synaptic activity and generation of scaffolding and stabilizing proteins. There were limited aberrant connections and clear evidence of pruning when some of the dendrites had gone awry. Vesicle transport was at the correct location and at an acceptable rate, though Mileena frowned when she calculated that it was down 2% from the last trial. Still, it was a success. In 48 hours, she had made a section of the bioneural gel learn from a set of programmed stimuli.

"Beautiful," she whispered to the screen, and thoughtfully pressed her finger against it before terminating the display.

She swirled idly in the chair and looked up at the ceiling. Her results were exciting, she supposed, but not nearly as flashy as a 12% increase in warp drive efficiency or the discovery of yet another dead end wormhole. Ah well. When they returned to the alpha quadrant, she'd get to show off her advances. Assuming, of course, that they hadn't been obsoleted in the 75 years it would take them to arrive within spitting distance of a scientific institution. She stilled the chair and got up, nervously fidgeted with the padd, then put it down again.

To distract herself, she pulled a vial of viscous blue solution from one of the otherwise empty cabinets and dumped it on a plant near the wall. They'd been a present from Kes while she was still aboard. A way to brighten up the otherwise sterile interior. Somehow, they'd survived through all of the turmoil, a fact that Mileena attributed to both her green thumb and the fact that the lights were on almost 24 hours a day. Then, she reached to the base of an arched and serrated leaf, clipped it off with a smooth nail, and chewed it thoughtfully. It was a type of mint, she'd been told, if mint had been bred to be bitter and slimy. She found the herb barely palatable, but the chemicals in it took the edge off her hunger and her anxiety. She swallowed the green mash, gathered up her padd, and headed off to the conference room.

A few minutes later, she was shuffling uncomfortably in front of the conference room. A grim-faced ensign strode out, which Mileena took as her cue to slide in before the doors shut with a hiss. She put the padd on the table without looking up and touched a few embedded controls, causing a screen on the far wall to spring to life. She nodded towards it, turned back to Chakotay, and began her presentation.

"Commander, th-" the words died in her throat. She swallowed again, as the unpleasant taste of the plant rose back in her throat. Next to the broad-shouldered man sat Captain Janeway, one eyebrow cocked gracefully across her forehead and a sardonic smirk across her lips.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Attempting to recover, she forced a smile. "Captain. I am pleased you chose to join us." Unconsciously, she twisted her hands behind her back, digging her nails into the palm of her hand. Already, this was disastrous.

"Yes, well, I've been trying to be more involved in the day-to-day running of the ship while we have a welcome lull in our activities." There was no reason, Janeway thought, to confess that she'd traded reporting duties with Chakotay to compensate for all the aggravation she'd put him through. He was just handing her the reins.

The ensign raised one eyebrow in return and offered, "Would you like me to review the research from the beginning or have you had the chance to go over the previous updates?" Her demeanor slipped from uncomfortable to controlled and Janeway mentally praised the young woman's composure.

"That won't be necessary, Ensign. I can bring myself up to speed after the meeting."

"Very well." The young woman slid the padd across the table to the Commander's waiting hands. He picked it up and scrolled through the animations as the Ensign spoke.

"Over the past thirty days, I have rerun the most recent set of simulations and initiated a second protocol using controlled bursts of visual information. The synaptic activity among the gel sections increased almost 68% over an otherwise undisturbed 48 hour period. This was repeated twice and I am confident in my conclusion."

"So the bioneural gel can learn without active input. Fascinating," he murmured. Ensign Irae was unsure of the veracity of his comment, so she chose to ignore it and move forward. Or at least, she tried to before the captain cut her off.

"You're teaching the bioneural gel," she said, arching an eyebrow to convey her surprise.

"Yes, Captain. My group at the Daystrom Institute was stationed aboard the ship to monitor the use of the bioneural gel and to," she paused for a moment, "investigate acceptable ways to expand its functionality. That included ways of training it to adapt."

The captain leaned forward and narrowed her eyes, forming the beginnings of a patented Janeway stare. "And where did you obtain bioneural gel? We had barely enough to begin with when we initiated this trip."

The younger woman was disturbingly unphased, as if she had rehearsed this very question. "We had three samples for our own use, which was anticipated to be sufficient for the journey. It was not. Fortuitously, after Neelix infected the bioneural gel packs with his cheese, three of them were found to be irreparably damaged. I requested that their contents be transferred to me once it was determined that they were unusable even as salvage."

"I see," continued Janeway, the glare fully spreading across her face. "And who, precisely, decided to give you access to one of the most precious commodities on this ship."

"I did," interjected Chakotay.

The laser-like stare rotated towards the senior officer, who did his best not to shrink back into his chair. "I consulted with Lieutenant Torres and we agreed that some good should come out of that disaster rather than throwing the packs into the replicators for reprocessing."

Janeway relaxed into mere annoyance. "Well, I see that my input wasn't required for that particular decision."

"Given the incremental and experimental nature of my research, Commander Chakotay suggested that he act as my contact rather than bother you with biweekly reports. However, now that Seven of Nine is on the crew, she may be a more logical choice due to her familiarity with bio-technological interfaces." Again, the young woman kept her gaze level with the captain, the muscles in her cheeks smooth and her expression almost Vulcan in its serenity.

"I will consider it," said the captain, her jaw set in a frown. "Continue the briefing, Ensign."

The ensign's pace quickened and the images on the display flickered faster. "I've concluded that it is feasible for us to implement a training program for certain key systems. This would enhance the adaptability and function of the circuitry already present in the ship. I've estimated that there could be up to a 30% increase in helm control speed. "

"Heady words," retorted the captain. "But before I let you loose on crucial systems, I will need some proof of concept beyond a handful of microscope slides."

A broad smile unexpectedly dawned on the broad, curving face of the younger woman. The edges of her amber-shaded eyes crinkled warmly and her body seemed to throw off whatever tension had lived in her blue-clad shoulders. She gestured towards Chakotay, who returned the padd across the table. The ensign's fingers danced across the surface and she walked forward, placing the padd directly in front of the captain. "Computer, download Irae training logs one through two hundred."

Janeway's eyes widened to their full extent as the screen filled with streams of numbers and images. She tilted her head and rubbed the side of her face with the palm of her hand, unable to process all of the data as they whirred past. "These are..."

"Practice runs in the lab, in the holodeck, and in one shuttle temporarily fitted with a rudimentary version of the interface. With," she added swiftly, "all regular systems functioning and a termination device ready should any fluctuations occur."

Janeway whirled towards her first officer, still aghast, and spread her fingers in annoyed wonderment "You let her put untested hardware into one of the shuttlecraft? What would have happened if something went wrong?"

"Our tests indicated," replied Irae, not giving him a chance to answer, "that the most likely outcome would be a failure of navigation. However, the interface is such that it could not access other critical systems. We would be dead in the water, but otherwise intact." Her tone returned to being clipped, detached, and professional.

Chakotay continued her train of thought, though with a less detached tone borne of practiced years of handling his superior officer. "Captain, what you see here represents five years of constant work by the proteomics lab, regardless of the limited materials and personnel that she has been assigned. It was the least I could do to test the outcomes of her research."

"Why wasn't any of this brought to my attention?" The captain resisted the urge to rub her temples to drain off some of the aggravation. Just as frustrating as the subterfuge was her being omitted from the excitement of testing new theories. The scientist in her railed against the detached command facade that she was required to maintain.

The girl gave a shrug and began to tick off a few concepts on her hands, her head tilted up as if she were gathering information from the distorted stars outside of the window. "I'm not sure how large the network can get without losing efficacy and wasting gel. There isn't a standardized training program in place yet; some people I've tested seem to adapt far quicker and I need to find out why. I do worry, Captain," and she turned her pale face back towards the table, "that an experimental system interfacing with navigation or weapons could have unacceptably unpredictable results. Failure is acceptable, and sometimes desirable, in the lab. But in practice, we require reliability." Her voice trailed off and Janeway noticed a tiny slump in her shoulders. She seemed to shake it off just as abruptly as it showed.

"So, what did you find," asked Janeway slowly, attempting to moderate the continuing build-up of indignation and irritation.

"The shuttlecraft maneuvered with a .6 second improvement in response speed after a 10 minute session while the vehicle was stationary. In my lab, after several thousand hours of training and use, I have reduced the duration of processing time by five seconds for continual input tasks, such as inputting data, that typically take between 10 and 15 seconds. For automated tasks that typically take around 72 hours, the interface can compress that to about 55 hours." A grin played irrepressibly at the edges of the girl's lips as she watched the information sink in.

The captain's mind reeled with the influx of information. Seemingly without her knowledge, one of her ensigns had designed a biological system that could significantly augment the entire function of the ship. A five second improvement could mean the difference between avoiding an attack and taking a hit to the shields. Saving more than half a day's processing brought them that many hours closer to reaching the alpha quadrant. Janeway let her demeanor relax. This was still a Starfleet vessel and, even in the most unorthodox of situations, exploration and experimentation were the norm.

"If you are interested," the young woman continued, "I would like to demonstrate the interface. I have a bioneural console in my lab that serves both as my research station and my experimental subject."

Janeway mulled her response. Part of her was furious at the ongoing machinations, no matter how well-intentioned, perpetrated by her crew. The other part was insatiably curious about the expanding research. It was outside Janeway's usual purvey, but the young woman had put obvious and meticulous care into everything she had presented. Rewarding while punishing was often her least favorite task and this was no exception.

"Very well, ensign. I will visit tomorrow at 0900 hours. However, from now on, all material acquisitions by your lab should be routed through me for final approval. And don't expect me to hand out rare materials as readily as the rest of my senior staff."

"Of course, Captain," answered the girl, barely perturbed. "I will have a full list on your desk by 2300 hours."

The captain raised both eyebrows and allowed a thin lipped smile. "Make it 0700 hours tomorrow morning. As I recall, Ensign Powell was quite excited to have you attend her event this evening. It's unlikely I can procure everything overnight, even as the captain."

The young woman gave an almost imperceptible sigh and her face dropped into something more friendly. "I would hate to disappoint her." she said, breaking into an unexpectedly informal tone. Then, she fixed her gaze back on Chakotay, who seemed somewhat less uneasy than he had been just minutes earlier. "Which reminds me, with your permission, I would like to continue having Ensign Powell assist me with technical modifications to the circuitry. Lieutenant Hargrove and Crewman Doyle have volunteered to oversee some of the other installations once the project goes forward."

Janeway furrowed her brow, but said nothing as Chakotay nodded his head. "As long as they do this on their off hours, I have no problem." He turned towards the Captain. "Is that okay?"

"Yes, fine," she without inflection.

"Also," and for the first time, the young woman sounded tentative. "I would like to approach Seven of Nine for some advice on this circuitry. Her experience with the Borg neural interface would be invaluable. However, I don't-"

"I'll ask," he said reassuringly. "Whether or not she'll accept is another matter and," he said putting up a cautioning palm, "you may not like what she has to say. She finds much of the bioneural interface annoyingly primitive."

The ensign nodded in agreement. "Still, I need to try."

"Well then, Captain, if that is all, I'd like to conclude this meeting," remarked the commander with false joviality.

"Before you go, I do have one question, ensign. Why is it that you require materials and staff from other departments?"

Janeway saw the shoulder slump again, slightly more pronounced and accompanied by a brief intake of breath and a flaring at the nostrils. However, it was Chakotay who answered. "Well, proteomics is an incredibly specific field. Given our limited personnel and the time it would take-"

His explanation was cut off by a communication ping. "Bridge to Captain Janeway."

"Go ahead Tuvok."

"We're receiving an unusual signal emanating from the moon of an M class planet approximately half a light year away. Language and source is unknown, though it is broadcasting on the usual frequencies."

"On my way." She rose, tugged down her jacket, and nodded towards the Ensign. "Dismissed. And be sure to enjoy your party tonight." She spun on her heel and strode away. Chakotay took a moment to reach out and touch the forearm of the Ensign, who breathed in and out slowly.

"You did well, Mileena. It'll be okay."

"Thank you, Commander. See you later."

With that, the conference room cleared.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Mileena returned to the lab and collapsed across one of the outer consoles. "Well, that was an almost unmitigated failure," she informed the room, which failed to acknowledge her complaints. "Antagonizing the captain and embarrassing Chakotay are definitely going to do wonders for my scientific career. Hey, maybe I'll get to do my experiments in the brig if I annoy the Captain enough."

After indulging in a few minutes of self-pity, during which time she paced anxiously around the main office, she resumed her work in preparation for the captain's visit. Retreating to the rear kiosk, she dragged out a metal stool and dropped in front of the experimental apparatus. She unfastened the locked metal casing and unfolded three screens. After a moment's consideration, she put on the projection goggles and set them temporarily to clear.

Gingerly, she removed the protective shielding from the bioneural console and pressed her palms into the glinting metal surface. The gel packs rose, then depressed slightly, bulging out the sides as she adjusted the shape with a few undulations of her fingers.

With a sharp intake of breath as preparation, she vocally triggered the initiation sequence. An array of tiny needle-like projections rose from the spongy surface and plunged shallowly into her skin. She took a few more breaths and activated the secondary system. With the sound of whirring machinery, a robotic arm came down and plunged a metal probe through each forearm, then a handful more in an arc around each wrist, as she gasped and allowed tears to form in her eyes. She gave herself a few more seconds to adjust to the sensation, vibrating her hands slightly to make sure the contacts were firmly intact.

Abruptly, the pain ceased and she relaxed again. "Thank you," she whispered to the gel. "Just make sure that you're leaving everything but the free nerve endings intact. We can't afford to get sloppy."

She knew that it couldn't hear her. Still, it was a constant source of gratitude and amazement gel had learned that particular nerve impulses decreased task performance. Within a few weeks of her developing this method of interaction, the gel had adapted and generated a mild local nerve block after she was correctly positioned. Now, the remainder of her neurons were in contact with the bioneural gel and she could begin her work.

"Alright, we need to run through all the test protocols. The captain won't be using direct neural stimulation, so we need to adjust the sensitivity higher without generating feedback. That said, let's make sure everything is working according to plan. Think we can do it?" She paused, as if awaiting a reply, then continued. "That's what I thought. Okay. Computer, load flight simulator beta. Add 40...no, 70% randomness. Let's make things a lot more fun."

Moments later, she felt as if she were sitting at Voyager's console, surrounded by the sensor and weapons displays usually manned by the bridge crew. It was the next best thing to a holodeck program, except she was in her own lab and there was no danger of the safety protocols failing every time someone sneezed on a power coupling. Ahead of her, the viewscreen showed a suspended array of approaching Kazon vessels in standard attack formation.

"Great. Computer, initialize simulator using integrated sensitivity. How good have we gotten?"

Twenty minutes later, she had her answer. Beads of sweat had formed across her forehead and pooled uncomfortably at the base of her neck. The moist warmth on the top of her hands suggested that she'd started bleeding from the contacts. Her head pulsed a drumbeat of pain. This was probably the absolute limit of what she could handle at the moment. However, the projected ship was still in more or less one piece, the Kazons were disabled or running, and the entire crew wasn't dead. She could imagine what a pilot as skilled as Tom Paris could do if he got his hands into this technology. The thought let her push a breathless smile through the discomfort.

The smile faded as noticed an unpleasant fact: she'd forgotten to engage the safety protocols. She could have burnt herself, fed back and shorted out her own nervous system, or somehow contaminated the ship's computer with her thought patterns. This was the fatigue, she guessed, but it was no excuse. Sloppiness could be fatal and would need to be corrected immediately.

"Computer, personal note: if I attempt to engage any program when directly interfaced, prompt me to engage the safeties. If I do not respond, shut down the console until it is reauthorized. Now, initiate them."

"Acknowledged."

She sagged into the chair, tugged at her immobilized hands uncomfortably. She shook her hair back and forth a few times to shake out the droplets, then restarted the demonstration. For the next few hours, she adjusted the sensitivity and difficulty of the simulation, increasing the gain on the console until it acted as if she weren't wired directly in. That would be what the captain would experience when she visited. Assuming, of course, that yet another red alert didn't send the ship into a virtual shutdown.

A gentle chime sounded behind her. "Warning. Tissue damage is approaching unacceptable levels. Discontinue usage to avoid a hard shutdown."

With a vocal and profane protest, she disengaged the bioneural interfaced, raised her hands to her face, and pulled back the goggles, keeping her eyes squinted shut until she was ready. Then, she looked down. Her skin, usually a warm brown, tinged with a bit of olive when she was tired, was covered with rivulets of ostentatiously red blood where it wasn't burned away completely. Definitely overdid it. Flexing her fingers experimentally, she watched in fascination as the red-black skin cracked across her knuckles. She was once again grateful that the nerve block would stay in place for a few more minutes. She gazed at the tray where she kept her own dermal regenerator. She could usually avoid an unfortunate trip to sickbay by healing herself, but only if she respected her body's limits. Not today, though. She'd need the Doctor.

Gingerly, she sprayed down the console with disinfectant and folded the display back into the wall. Now the block was fading and the sensation began to flood back into her brutalized skin. Gritting her teeth in a combination of pain and irritation, she said, "Ensign Irae to Sickbay."

"Hello Ensign. Was this round of testing successful?"

"Extremely so," she said, wincing with every aching second.

"Ah, so you'll be needing both the dermal regenerator and topical anesthetic. Lovely. I shall have them here for when you figure out a way to hide the damage from your crewmembers. Sickbay out."

Mileena considered a site-to-site transport under Powell's supervision, then brushed it aside. No, it would be the long jaunt through the corridors. She threw on an archaic lab coat, tucked her hands into her pockets, and hoped that the blood wouldn't seep through. With a final glance, she resealed the lab and briskly walked to the doctor's office.

After successfully dodging any questioning gazes, she reached sickbay, where she was subjected to a series of snide comments and unpleasant treatments. As a change of pace, the Doctor substituted his implied threats with a formal warning: the next time she approached him for serious medical intervention, he would report her to the commander and recommend that the project be discontinued.

Once finished, Mileena debated heading to the mess hall. Instead, she headed to her quarters and collapsed on the bed, staring balefully into the warp-distorted starfield. The dressing down had left her feeling decidedly dismal about her project. She glanced at the clock and sighed. Already 1700 hours. She had promised Ensign Soohoo that she would take over part of her beta shift in the human metrics lab. It had been a worthwhile barter, allowing Mileena a few extra hours to work on her projects earlier in the week, but she was simply not up to it. She flexed her hands a few times, grimacing as the newly-crafted skin resisted her movements, and considered her options. Bailing out seemed the only logical course.

"Computer, locate Ensign Soohoo."

"Ensign Soohoo is in her quarters."

With a groan, the dark-haired ensign rolled herself out of bed and made her way across deck four to the crewman's quarters. The petite Korean woman greeted her, looked her over with coal-black eyes, and, in the next breath, said, "Wow, you look terrible. Go get some sleep. You can take my shift tomorrow." The door slid closed with a snap and Mileena drooped gratefully into the doorway.

Back in her room, she flopped onto her stomach and nestled into a bundle of rumpled blankets, running her fingertips idly over the rough texture of the striped fabric. When was the last time she'd spent more than a few moments in here? Three days ago, maybe? Enough to shower and have a 20 minute nap? It felt strange to be home and essentially off duty.

She settled onto the bed, instructing the computer to wake her in two hours. That would probably be enough to keep her out of sickbay. The last time she'd been awake for almost five days straight, she'd collapsed in the mess hall, resulting in a week's worth of chiding by the Doctor and Chakotay. A bit of faked embarrassment for being overzealous had kept her out of serious trouble, but that might not work again. With luck, she'd get enough rest to get back into the lab, finish up the testing for tomorrow, and head off to Lauren's gathering without fainting again.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Kathryn Janeway gazed over Ensign Kim's shoulder and frowned. The sensors continued to pick up the mysterious distress signal. Or at least, that is what they thought it was. A repeating set of sounds, relatively simple in composition, broadcast on all subspace frequencies. It was either that or a warning to stay away from that location. Tuvok had advised caution, given the overall hostility of this quadrant. Chakotay counseled that they approach and attempt to get readings with something other than the long-range scanners. She agreed with him, though her decision was tempered with the knowledge that a few days on a Class M planet could provide them necessary resources or a bit of direly-needed shore leave.

She fidgeted with the console and peppered the young man with questions about his attempts to clean up the signal. With carefully concealed annoyance, he confirmed that he was, in fact, doing his job to the best of his abilities. At her instruction, he adjusted the gains, performed a handful of frequency modulations, applied a bilateral Z transform, and otherwise put the signal through the precise series of changes that he would have performed without her standing there. A few minutes of "yes ma'am"s later, she stepped away and returned to her chair.

Minutes ticked by and the starfield rapidly lost its appeal. There was nothing in the blurred points of light to hold her interest. With a wave of her hand, she absconded to her ready room to organize her thoughts.

Another pot of black coffee was delivered from the replicator to her waiting hands as she sat down at her desk. She scrolled through some duty reports, attempted to make a note in her personal log about something, and then gave up. None of this was actually what she wanted to do. What she wanted to do was to go down to Deck 4 and have a sternly-worded and largely unwarranted conversation with the ensign about insubordination. Well, that wasn't it at all. No, her annoyance actually came from the disquieting realization that she was out of the loop.

Janeway prided herself on her scientific acumen. If there was a technique, she learned it. If there were a theory, she'd explore it. If there was a series of fascinating phenomena, she wanted to throw the ship through the middle of it. Yet in this situation, almost five years of work had gone completely unnoticed and unreported. What she'd seen today was a fraction of what had been accomplished and she had best catch up before she, what, looked like a fool in front of one of her crewmembers?

There was a little more than that, though she didn't admit it beyond the back of her mind. She was also accustomed to wresting control of a situation by merely being present in it. She'd been to a hundred briefings where a flash of her blue-grey eyes would not just silence, but also crush, any opposition or ill behavior. But the girl had been unflappable. The more Janeway pushed, the steelier she'd gotten. This was the sort of thing she expected from Tuvok and not from some slip of a thing who had seen more years in high school than in Starfleet. The girl had a poker face that would clean Tom Paris out of his rations for a week.

Janeway shook her head. Nothing would get her back onto equal footing quicker than familiarizing herself with the materials and, even better, finding ways to fix it...or tear it apart. She scooped up the padd and began reading. Within two minutes, she put it down and almost threw it across the plexiglass surface of her desk. The notes were dense, almost unreadable; they were closer to a personal journal than any sort of report. They lapsed out of the common language of Starfleet and into some notation that she barely recognized. No wonder Chakotay had been so reluctant to supply the young woman with resources: he probably couldn't figure out what was going on. Janeway wondered how the rest of the ensign's lab could put up with that degree of shoddy recordkeeping. She reminded herself to instruct the scientist in proper protocols when they met tomorrow.

Janeway leaned her head against the plush grey chair and rolled her neck against the pillow on the back, trying to ease some of the tension out of her red-clad shoulders. Fine, there had to be another way.

"Computer," called Janeway, "are there any spoken logs from Ensign Irae's research?"

"There are three hundred and seventy nine research logs and five hundred personal logs from Ensign Irae."

Janeway gave her patented wide-eyed head shake. Well, at least the girl had taken the time to provide an alternate method of communication. Where to begin? Perhaps with some of the notes that the Ensign found most interesting, which would be the ones she recorded.

"Are there any logs that contain visual information?"

"Three hundred and seventy nine research logs contain visual information."

"Wait, so she has a video of every log?"

"Unable to answer. Please state a valid command."

"Computer, display most recent visual log."

"Unable to comply. Log is in process."

Janeway looked at the timepiece on her desk. The delicate black hands, a relic from her time in the Traditionalist encampment, displayed what would have been 4:30PM before the transition to the ship's standard time. Thinking back to lunch, the captain calculated that the young woman had been on duty for at least ten hours, something that Janeway tried to discourage when the ship was not on full alert. It ruined morale and decreased performance when everyone resembled the sleepless dead. That was another thing she'd need to rein in.

Janeway chided herself for her hypocrisy. After all, when was the last time she'd taken more than a few hours to comfortably slumber in her carefully-decorated quarters? How many hours of leisure time had she frittered away by doing exactly what she was doing now, staying on a task that most definitely did not require her attention? She pushed the thought aside.

"Computer, display the most recent non-active log."

Her tabletop monitor sprang to life and the ensign's broad nose, sparkling eyes, and chaotic hair came into view, followed by the rest of a small room almost filled with a combination of archaic and cutting-edge machinery. Janeway tried to make out what she was looking at, but instead the Ensign's voice came through, a conversational tone quite in contrast with the professional or exhausted demeanor she had presented earlier.

"Proteomics log Stardate 51440.09: I've started the newest cell cycle growth patterns, so there's not much to report from that end of things. I mean, I could film each of the cell divisions, but that's boring even for me. Plus, isn't that the equivalent of pornography?" A tiny laugh rippled out of the girl and Janeway smiled without meaning to. The camera panned back, then followed the young woman to the right side of the bench.

"So I've been trying to work on the calculations that we-Ensign Powell and I, that is, have been using for the somatosensory transform. We've done a little adjusting, but it's still not enough to permit adequate visual input. Which, as you know, is incredibly annoying!" Her voice became raised, but there was hardly any anger in it. She was teasing herself and the listener.

The camera followed the young woman upward and Janeway found herself screen-to-screen with a trifold display of glimmering equations. Fascinated, she sat back and listened as the young woman went through, step-by-step, everything that had been changed since the last update. Rows of yellow numbers and green symbols, occasionally struck through with red, scrolled by at a slow and reasonable pace. Every integral was noted and complemented. Every variable had a name. And when the amber-eyed woman finally stopped speaking and bid the viewer a quick farewell, Janeway noticed that almost fifteen minutes had gone by. The captain forgave the terrible notes. But only somewhat, as was her prerogative.

Janeway loaded another log and once again watched the young woman bounce through her scientific explorations as if she were giving a tour of some popular vacation destination. Janeway felt that envy rise again. It was so rare to see someone still taking pleasure from their duties. So many people had slowly changed over to merely dragging themselves through the tasks, especially after the rounds of tragedy that had befallen them. But this burst of life, hidden below decks, was still fresh and green.

Eventually, Janeway sat back and closed her eyes, just...listening, even if she didn't quite understand what was being discussed. Obviously, the ensign had someone else in mind when she was speaking, but Janeway found herself feeling like she was somehow the target. There was a warm familiarity in the girl's voice that Janeway found appealing. It was like a one-sided conversation with a dear friend.

"Bridge to Captain Janeway."

Startled, she shut off the recording. "Go ahead Commander."

"We're within visual range of the phenomenon."

"I'm on my way." She glanced at the clock again. 7:30PM. She'd sat through almost three hours of logs without realizing. For a moment, she felt ashamed. These were public logs, true, but the ensign correctly believed that no one was going to be interacting with them. Perhaps the young woman would not have been so open had she known that a pair of dispassionate eyes would be watching her work. The thought fluttered away as the Captain entered the bridge.

"Onscreen," she commanded. With a quick glance, she noted that the bridge crew had failed to cycle from alpha to beta shift. That criticism of the Ensign would have to wait.

A reddish-brown moon filled the viewer, vaguely reminiscent of Mars, save the dark silver-black veins that ran across the surface. She sat down in her chair and asked, "What are we looking at Mr. Kim?"

"Sensors indicate that the moon is almost entirely composed of silicon, with some strontium, beryllium, and a handful of heavy elements we've encountered in this sector. There are also large deposits of iron and aluminum in clusters around the surface."

"Any evidence of ships or defenses? I'd hate for us to be surprised," she said smoothly.

"Negative, captain. We've not detected any interphase radiation or other signs of a cloaked vessel," said the young ensign.

"Life signs?"

"Also negative. Also, the neighboring M-class planet has evidence of colonization but no evidence of organic life."

"A possible extinction," she queried softly.

"Unknown." She could hear his head shake.

"It might be worthwhile to send down an exobiology crew to take a look," Chakotay interjected.

"We'll do it in the morning," she said, shutting him down. "Right now, our priority is that distress call. Can you pinpoint it?"

"It's near the moon's equator," said Ensign Kim, his fingers dancing across the console. "There's a lot of interference from the surface metals, though, so it may be tricky beaming down."

"And the shuttlecraft are all too heavily damaged from our last encounter with the Borg. They won't be ready for another 48 hours at least," continued Chakotay.

"We'll have to take our chances," Janeway said, firmly. "Commander, Tuvok, assemble a team and get down there."

"Captain, that would not be advisable," warned Tuvok. "It appears that the moon is in an extremely unstable orbit. Based on its present position, it will escape the planet's gravity in approximate three point seven days. "

"Any idea of what is causing this," she asked.

"Not at this time. We cannot discount the possibility that whatever is causing this instability may be dangerous to the away team."

"Since we plan to be out of here in under a day, we should be fine. Have Engineering figure out a way to reduce the backscatter and make sure that the transporter rooms are standing by to get you out of there if you run into any trouble."

"Aye, Captain," the broad-shouldered man said as he exited the bridge.

"Sorry, Ensign Powell," muttered Janeway under her breath. "It looks like your party will need to wait."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

The holodeck was already bursting with crewmen when Mileena finally stumbled in, almost an hour after she'd intended to arrive. The alarm had failed to pierce the solid veil of sleep that had descended immediately upon her when she closed her eyes. Now, still waking up, she tried to make an attempt at being social before relieving yet another crewman from part of his gamma shift. She slid into the crowd, attempting to identify the few people she knew, before trying to head to the synthesized balcony on the other edge of the room.

"Leena. Leeena," came a drunken song from behind her. A cloud of alcohol enveloped her as Doyle approached and swung an affectionate arm around her shoulder.

"Hello dear. Lauren sends her regrets. The captain decided to launch a rescue mission in the middle of the night. I was instructed to watch out for you and to show you a good time. So, what good time would you like today?"

Mileena shrugged off the sweating man and carefully steered him towards a table, where he teetered precariously before setting himself down on the wooden stool with a huff. His sandy brown hair was matted to his leering face and his off-duty clothing was drenched with unspeakable fluids.

"You'll be sober enough to work with me tomorrow, right, William?" she scolded. "I don't want you vomiting all over my console."

"Dear, dear me," he said with mock affront. "I would never dare introduce something other than my own blood onto that precious machine. However, my dear scientist," and he bent low towards her pale face. "I will only sober up if you try to outdrink me."

She narrowed her eyes to Janeway-quality slits and let her eyelids flutter. "Are you attempting to blackmail me with my own sobriety? Are you crazy?"

He didn't respond to her. Instead, he spun a few degrees on the padded stool and called out, "Barkeep! A large mug of your most rank Cardassian ale for our delightful de...guest." He was all teeth when he returned to face his drinking companion.

"Seriously, Will? Cardassian ale in a room full of Maquis?"

"Well, now they know I mean business and so do you." The frothy, offwhite beverage served with its customary slice of Cardassian lemon appeared in front of the Ensign with a flourish of towel by the holographic waiter. He waltzed off while Mileena stared warily at the drink.

"Well, go ahead," the drunken officer urged. She picked it up, sniffed it experimentally, and then wished she hadn't.

"By the dark moons this stuff is foul," she said, pinching her nostrils shut.

Ensign Dalby swung a chair over to the two of them. "It tastes just as bad, but it'll do in a pinch when you've been fighting the brewers for as long as we did. Go ahead, Leena. I have six replicator rations on you that you won't be able to finish more than two sips."

The young woman was incredulous. "You're...betting on my drinking habits." The ex-Maquis nodded.

"Are you really that bored? Fine, put me in that pool. Another three rations says I down the entire mug." Dalby made a signal and someone tapped a padd, then waved back.

With that, she put the steaming glass to her face and, steeling herself against the flavor, drank the entire draught in a single gulp. Then, she used every ounce of willpower to keep from spewing the entire concoction over her tablemates. There were not words in her vocabulary that could adequately describe how terrible the beverage was. The assault on her olfactory system had been only the opening volley. Its texture was viscous and unnatural. It burned the back of her throat, which blessedly dampened the overwhelmingly rancid taste.

She slammed down the empty mug and took in a deep breath to a smattering of applause. Next came the fit of coughing and another force of will to restrain the nausea. Someone was reaching over her shoulder to hand over her share of the replicator pot...15 rations...while Dalby was procuring her something, anything, to blast away the flavor. A few rounds of peanuts later, Mileena's taste buds had finally recovered.

"Right, right, so what the hell was that for?"

"The ale? To loosen you up," said Lieutenant Doyle, suddenly sober after shaking off the synthehol. "You worked nine straight shifts this week. As a superior officer, it is my duty to make sure you don't work yourself into the ground or get yourself killed. So I'm getting you good and drunk..."

"...so I can miss the gamma shift I'm supposed to be covering in twenty minutes," she said miserably. He looked a little surprised. "What, you think I like wearing my uniform to a party? No can do, Will. I slept during swing. Engineering needs someone down there to monitor a coupling replacement. I'll be fine as long as no one screws up."

"Mileena," he persisted. "I know what you do to get your supplies. You barter, you trade, that's fine, but there's a limit. We don't want to see you screw up and ruin everything. And what would the captain say if she found out what you were doing?"

"Hah, the captain," said Mileena, throwing a few salty snacks into her mouth and chewing messily. "Well, I know Chakotay has turned a blind eye to my activities for now, so I'm guessing she'll say nothing so long as he keeps his mouth shut during pillow talk."

"Oh? Please," retorted Dalby. "You think they're sleeping together? There are however many people wandering around a moon in the middle of the night looking for a beeping...beep. No one who is getting laid would do that. She's as dry as a-"

"Let's...leave the talk of our captain's personal and physical characteristics for another time. The heat death of the universe, perhaps," demurred Mileena.

"You know," said Doyle, "speaking of personal and physical. I've heard that you and Ensign Powell have finally, you know, made it official." He furiously worked his eyebrows and made an obscene hand gesture that demonstrated what level of officialness he believed had taken place. She slapped his hands down onto the table with drunken force and they both cackled.

"If by official, you mean I'm continuously steering her away from my lab and into the arms of the entire engineering staff, then yes. It's official: I'm trying to get one of you idiots to sleep with her."

"I've tried," said Doyle, his face drooping, "but I swear she only has eyes for you. It's Mileena this and Mileena that. I was in the lab and she said the funniest thing," he said, mimicking their friend's bubbly tones. His impression was interrupted, though, by someone who sounded remarkably like the other ensign projecting her annoyance from behind them.

"I can't wait to see Mileena naked on her console, enjoying the sort of attention only I can give to her, right boys?"

Everyone swirled around, some with more stability than others, to see the Ensign scowling at them from a slightly wrinkled uniform. The din in the holodeck dropped to a disconcerting level of whispering. Mileena gripped the table, her skin paling more than usual as she watched her friend grow livid. The willowy scientist rose unsteadily and took two steps forward.

"Sorry I'm late," continued Ensign Powell. "Janeway wanted all three transporter rooms on alert. I was just relieved by some pitying gamma shift kid who felt bad I was missing my own birthday."

"Lauren, sweetie, they were just playing," Mileena said as she toppled forward. Lauren caught her, though her body posture suggested she would have just as well let the young woman fall face-first onto the sticky holodeck floor.

"They're always playing. You, however, are drunk and have no excuse. If the captain is coming to your lab tomorrow, it will do you no good to be wildly hung over." She half-dragged the drunken scientist towards the door. "Good night, boys. Do be useful in the morning."

"She is screwed," whispered Doyle conspiratorially. "There's nothing good that can ever come from seeing the captain."

Back in her quarters, Ensign Powell was running cold water over Ensign Irae's curved, flushed face, trying to conjure sobriety out of the haze of Cardassian ale. The blue-clad scientist had finished retching the remainder of the repulsive liquid into the sink and was now trying to clean up enough to go back on duty. The disapproving looks that Powell was shooting her were blessedly accompanied by a toothbrush and mouthwash.

"Thank you," she hacked through a raw throat, relishing the taste of mint that finally obliterated the last of the alcohol's effects. "You're a lifesaver."

"Yes, well, if you decided to treat yourself somewhat better than pond scum, I'd have to save your life less often."

Mileena, even though she was only on the cusp of sober, managed to suppress a comment of how lifesaving merely allowed her friend more unfettered access to the scientist in their mutual free time. She reached out a trembling arm instead and attempted to draw her friend closer to her.

"Lauren, listen. About what the guys were saying..."

"I know what they say, 'Leena. I'm there most of the time." She sounded hurt in spite of her attempts to mask it and dodged away from the other girl's outreach.

"And I know, at least, I think I know, where we stand. I can't give you anything you want, Lauren. I'm essentially married to my work." Mileena said. "And you, I'm not even what you prefer. I remember that the first year, it was all we could do to keep you from following Tom Paris up to the bridge at the start of shift."

Lauren snorted softly and walked out of the room without responding. A little steadier on her feet, Mileena followed her. "Listen, I'll start taking better care of myself and you find some time to sort through the entire engineering staff for a date, okay?"

The freckled young woman smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, and her posture was far too closed off to be happy. "Yeah, sure. I can start with Holder, maybe? I've heard he's a sweetie. Anyway, you should go."

Mileena wanted to smooth things over more, but she took the opening and fled out into the hallway, hoping that the dizzying swirl of the hallway would clear enough for her to read the tricorder. It would do no good for her to volunteer to take someone else's shift and then screw the whole damn thing up, ruining the swap for both of them. Taking care of someone else's scut work hadn't been so difficult back when she was getting six hours of sleep a day. Just a bit longer, she swore to herself, and it would all go back to normal.

A few minutes later, she was propped up on a wall in engineering, watching the readings and trying to ignore how much her friend was hurting. It would sort itself out after a few nights; it always did. Still, she wished there were some way to give Lauren what she wanted without bedding her. As soon as she figured that out, she'd implement it. Hell, given the state of the crew, she could probably bottle it.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Chakotay adjusted his face mask more closely over his light brown skin and exhaled with effort. The atmosphere had proved too thin for comfortable exploration, necessitating a supplemental breathing apparatus that he found bulky and awkward, even in the lowered gravity. He envied the Vulcan crewmember who seemed unaffected by the lower oxygen content and bounded confidently across the pockmarked surface.

He'd divided the away team into groups of two and they had spread out radially from the transport site, the only usable one for several kilometers. Once out of range, they'd be unable to get back to the ship without sprinting to this location. Luckily, the beacon seemed to be coming from relatively nearby, though the dim light of the larger planet was the only illumination beside the glittering, unfamiliar stars of the Delta Quadrant. He'd more or less need to trip over it to be able to see it. The flashlights they'd brought were woefully inadequate for a late-night search and rescue, but that seemed to be the norm on away missions. Chakotay took another stilted breath and continued forward, hoping his tricorder would reveal something fascinating so he could return to the ship and his normal breathing patterns. Obviously, the lack of oxygen was making him grumpy.

A few minutes later, a chirp came through his communicator. "Commander, we've found something," said an urgent female voice on the other end. "About one kilometer west of the transport site."

"I'm on my way," he responded, motioning for his companion to follow him towards the slightly panicked voice. He was briefly puzzled, as Ensign Harper was generally unflappable in her duty performance. The reason for her disquiet became evident in her next sentence.

"This is a first contact situation, sir, and I am unable to proceed adequately," she reported. "I have attempted to communicate our good intentions, but we're just standing here, staring at each other."

"Continue staring, Ensign. Don't make any sudden movements and keep your posture as open as possible," he replied, breaking into a quick jog. The breathing apparatus complained with every heavy step and he suspected that arriving at his destination sweaty and wheezing wouldn't do much to impress the aliens. Neither, though, would having an inexperienced crewmember accidentally initiating an unpleasant exchange with what would inevitably be one of the delta quadrant's more hostile inhabitants. As if, Chakotay noted with irritation, there were any other variety of delta quadrant inhabitants.

By the time Chakotay had reached the site, the other crew members had assembled and were warily standing in a semicircle behind Ensign Harper. She had a tricorder on the floor in front of her and was making a slightly ridiculous gesture that attempted to show that she was unarmed and harmless. Or, perhaps, suffering from some sort of mental illness that caused her to flail her limbs wildly. Whatever was standing before her seemed unimpressed by her actions, but neither did it take any overtly aggressive actions, so there was that. When she turned towards the sound of her commander approaching, the figures did as well, allowing Chakotay his first view of the aliens.

They were at least as tall as a human, but broader and more solidly built. They seemed to be vaguely humanoid, though their appendages and head were not discernably separate from their massive bulk. Their skin, or what Chakotay thought was their skin, was a glittering lattice of glossy points that overlapped like scales across their entire bodies. Most striking were the lightning-shaped veins that seemed to entwine their bodies, seemingly the same composition as the moon's markings. Which would imply, the commander marked with misplaced amusement, that they were naked. Either that or they were wearing some sort of impressive full-body armor. He chose to believe the latter.

Two of the creatures stood in front of him while another was on the ground near the remnants of some sort of vehicle. They must have crashed with impressive velocity, since the site was almost completely reduced to a pile of fine sand quite unlike the rest of the glassy and rocky surface. The upper part of the aliens' bodies followed his movements as he dropped to a walk and spread his hands in front of him, gesturing for the other crewmen to move backwards as he did. No sense in putting them in more danger than was absolutely necessary.

"I am Commander Chakotay of the Federation Starship Voyager. We received your distress signal and want to provide aid," he said as clearly as he could from beneath his facemask.

He watched the aliens and he swore he saw some sort of movement, but nothing came out. He took a few steps nearer, carefully measuring his steps. Behind him, the ensign brought up the flashlight enough to cast more illumination without blinding the creatures. Chakotay took a closer look at the trio. He could see more clearly now what appeared to be legs and some sort of spindly apparatus emerging from the backs of the standing duo. The one on the ground, however, was bent into a strange shape. Whether it was a fatal break or merely some sort of reparable damage was not clear to Chakotay, though the others' proximity and posture suggested that their companion was probably alive. He couldn't see the ship behind them well enough to make a good guess at its shape, though he thought he saw a wing peeking up from behind a rock formation.

He tilted his head slightly. "Ensign, report," he said quietly.

"Three creatures, commander. They appear to be silicon based, which is probably why our sensors did not detect them. They are not noticeably different in composition from the surrounding surface," she replied uneasily.

"Silicon based," replied Chakotay incredulously. "I only know of two others: the Horta and another encountered by Captain Kirk several hundred years ago. And if I recall my Federation history, communication with those races didn't go smoothly either."

He turned his attention once more to the other creatures, who themselves seemed to be involved in an intense discussion. They had tilted towards each other and one seemed to be making an extremely subtle gesture towards the ground. Swallowing hard, Chakotay took another step forward, grabbing his tricorder with a slightly sweaty palm.

"I'm going to look at your crewmember," he said, though he knew they probably couldn't understand him. He inched forward more, bending slowly at the waist. "If he is injured, maybe we can help."

One of the silicon creatures also bent, blocking Chakotay's path, and he flinched. Instead, though, the creature reached out an appendage and began drawing in the lightly packed dust on the surface, creating a single line that extended horizontally between the two of them. Chakotay peered down and back up. Was it a division? A threat? A literal line in the sand?

"Commander, perhaps he is indicating that they come from the nearby planet," said a blue-clad lieutenant from behind him.

Chakotay nodded and attempting to pantomime just that. He pointed at the creatures, then pointed towards the looming planet behind them, and then down at the line on ground again. The creature made another small motion, which suggested assent. Chakotay pointed at himself, swept a hand towards his crew, and then pointed up. Above, he could dimly make out the light blue glow of Voyager's warp cells as they maintained a geosynchronous orbit above the transporter site. One of the aliens extended an appendage upward and then rotated it behind them towards the crumpled remains of their vehicle. Apparently, they too had come from the stars.

"Any signs of antimatter, dilithium, or something that would suggest a warp signature," the commander queried, still keeping his eye on the others on the planet.

"Negative, commander. I'm sensing a combination of helium and what appear to be hydrosilicate molecules. Some sort of combustion-based propulsion."

"So a pre-warp society, but one that has knowledge of subspace communications? Fascinating."

The creature had resumed drawing. As best he could tell, Chakotay saw four simple blocks, one of which the creature smudged out with a broad stroke of a flat limb. Perhaps one of the crew had died during the impact. Another block had a small, waved line drawn through it, suggesting that the creature on the ground was in fact injured rather than dead. Chakotay took out his tricorder and carefully waved it around the figures on the sand, then turned his face up hopefully. In response, the creature moved back and Chakotay was able to approach the fallen crewmember.

The creature on the ground shifted slightly at his approach. Chakotay went down on one knee and brought the tricorder across its body. The device was clearly struggling to make out the difference between the alien and the surrounding planetoid, enough so that he folded it away and took out his own flashlight, bringing it across the creature's torso in a long, slow motion. He could see where the impact had caused the body of the creature to literally crumble in places. If the creature had a nervous system, it was probably in severe pain.

"Chakotay, report," came the sudden voice of the Captain.

He startled slightly and hit his comm. "We've encountered the aliens, Captain. They're silicon based. Three lifeforms, one probably injured."

"Silicon based?" He could hear the incredulity in her voice. "Do you know anything more about them?"

"Negative, Captain. We're having some trouble communicating with them. We've established that they're from the nearby planet and that we're here to help. Beyond that, the translators are ineffective.

"Any sign of telepathic activity, like the Horta?"

"I can't tell you, Commander. No one down here has felt anything, but I'd need Mr. Tuvok or Mr. Vorik to come to the surface before I can give you a conclusive report. And I would rather not have a mind meld occur in an uncontrolled environment."

"I agree. Is there anything we can do for them in the meantime?"

"Not without determining more about their physiology," he said, gritting his teeth slightly. He wished that he had more equipment here instead of a handful of useless tricorders and a bunch of dim lightbulbs.

"One of them seems to be, for lack of a better term, shattered. Is it possible to beam them to sickbay?"

"The transporters won't be able to handle it. There's still too much interference from the surface backscatter. We'd risk contaminating their patterns with that of the surrounding rock and ending up with an unpleasant amalgamation" she replied.

"Commander Chakotay," came the sudden smooth tones of the Doctor. "May I suggest a potential plan of action?"

The commander could sense the Captain's displeasure at the hologram's monitoring the communication channels against her express wishes. For an instant, he was glad that he was tramping around in the dust rather than next to her glowering form.

"Of course, Doctor," he replied, attempting to ignore his superior's displeasure.

"You could try a modified phaser blast to try and knit the creature together. It is possible that this will cause the silicon to fuse into a glass-like structure which may be sufficient to temporarily give the creature cohesion, at least until we can find some way to heal him."

"So you're saying I should attack him and hope that it fixes him right up," Chakotay retorted.

"Well, when you put it that way," the Doctor said huffily, "it doesn't sound prudent. However, I am sure you will come up with an acceptable solution using your extensive training in the medical arts. Doctor out."

"Commander, we'll keep working on the problem up here. For now, do what you can and keep me appraised. Janeway out."

Chakotay mulled the situation over in irritated silence. In spite of the ridiculousness of the idea, there was probably some merit to the Doctor's suggestion. Silicon could be fused into glass, which seemed to be at least a superficial component to the creatures' anatomy. It could, however, just as easily be jewelry. There was no way of knowing for sure. He also wondered why the creatures had made no attempt to try and heal their compatriot.

Standing back up, he pointed towards the injured creature and back towards the wrecked ship, then once again at the ground. He did not receive anything by way of response and, frustrated, he sighed, returning to the grouping of his own crew.

He noticed that two had drifted away and were now returning, their hands full of rocks. The two young men piled the rocks in a small pyramid beside the group. One took out his phaser and offered it, palm first, to the Commander.

"They're silicon, commander. Maybe if we showed them that we can fuse the rocks together, they'll be convinced to let us try it on them."

"Or they'll take it as a sign of aggression and attack us. No, it's too risky without some sort of communication first," the Commander said with a head shake.

To his surprise, one of the standing creatures approached him and picked up a rock, then pressed the glossy stone to its midsection. The part of its body that might have been the mouth opened and, to Chakotay's surprise, a sound came out. Or rather, a sound came from the vibration of the rock it held against its body. It tried again, this time slightly louder.

"Draaaa-viiik," it said, drawing out the syllables.

Chakotay's thoughts whirled furiously. Was this a name or a call for help? Why the rocks? Perhaps something ceremonial? Practical? He glanced around. This was obviously something that couldn't have been attempted earlier, due to the crash's pulverizing the surroundings.

He bent and lifted a black, silver-streaked rock, then proffered it to the creature, who took it from his hand and put it on the appendage of the other creature. This one, which Chakotay noticed was smaller and bluer than its companion, also held the rock against itself.

"Plaaaa-vvan," came the deep, rumbling sound from the rock's contact with the creature's body.

The Commander understood. "Ms. Harper, set the tricorders to detect extremely low frequency vibrations, then set up a link with our communicators. Next, adjust the output so that sound is generated at about five thousand hertz below maximum spoken amplitude."

The Ensign made the necessary adjustments and handed the modified tricorder to the Commander, who held it to his face and said, very slowly, "Chakotay."

He could feel the word vibrate his guts and tremble in his hands. However, it had the desired effect. The creature repeated after him, "Cha...ka...ta."

Well, it was progress.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Captain Janeway received the report from the surface with impatient satisfaction. Apparently, the creatures spoke so far below normal frequencies that the transponders couldn't detect them without modification. Engineering was working on something more sensitive than a hacked-together tricorder to use as a communication medium. In the meantime, Chakotay had attempted to set up a dialogue with the creatures he referred to as Plavan and Dravik. The communicators still couldn't assemble enough of the language to translate it accurately, so Chakotay was arduously attempting to convey the crew's good wishes. He assured her it was probably going to go smoothly and that he'd contact her with any breakthroughs, in essence sending her to bed while he handled the away team himself.

She turned the bridge over to the gamma crew and headed towards her quarters. Briefly, she considered locating Ensign Powell's party for a bit of late-night merriment. However, at close to 0100 hours, it was probable that it would now be too debauched for her to enjoy. After all, how many years had it been since she'd gotten completely and truly drunk, then engaged in a bout of passionate, uninhibited flirtation? About as long as she'd been with Mark and then separated from him. Perhaps longer, she muttered to herself.

Janeway shuffled around her quarters, performing her evening routine with fatigued hands and eyes. She contemplated taking another look at what her crew was doing on the surface, but contented herself with checking in with the bridge one more time to ensure that there hadn't been a breakthrough in the past half hour. Finding none, she slipped into a pale green nightgown and rolled into bed. As the minutes went by, however, sleep eluded her. She imagined being on the surface, trying to break the communication barrier with another fascinating lifeform. She imagined being in astrometrics, trying to chart their way back home with greater efficiency. She imagined being with Mileena, in her lab, teaching the bioneural gel. She wanted desperately to be a scientist again and less a captain.

Janeway corrected herself. She didn't mind the control and responsibilities that came with being a captain. Out here, though, they were unceasing and incredibly tiring. If she were on a Galaxy-class starship, it would be acceptable for the captain to periodically lose herself in labwork for a few hours. Now, though, if she wasn't ready to spring into action on the bridge, she could leave the crew struggling for guidance while she was up to her ears in research. It couldn't be done and she'd have to content herself with being a spectator.

She hated to admit it, but the months she'd spent on that planet, trying to research a cure for the virus that had stranded her there, were some of the happiest of her time in the Delta Quadrant. The pure focus on her work, absent any distractions except for Chakotay's gentle overtures, was so welcome that she almost ached for it. That, and, well...she had to admit that she enjoyed the entreaties even if she couldn't accept them. It had been inadmissibly pleasing to be chased and desired. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at the clock. An hour had passed and she was no closer to sleeping, especially now that her thoughts had turned to a slightly more exciting topic.

She turned up the lights and went to her console to read, but thought the better and lay back down. "Computer, play Irae science logs 125 through 150." If she wasn't going to rest, she would at least prepare for tomorrow's meeting. Yet several minutes into the recitation of data, she found herself drifting off, the young woman's melodic, uninhibited conversation gently soothing her to sleep. It reminded her pleasantly of being a child, hearing people she cared about chatting in another room, their mere presence making her feel secure and loved.

The logs were still playing when she woke up several hours later to start her early shift. Perhaps, she thought ruefully, she had absorbed all the knowledge encompassed in those hours of commentary. After making her toilette and running a comb through her long, auburn hair, a quick replay through one of the logs confirmed that she had not acquired any sort of osmotic learning skill and that she'd need to, once again, sit down and try to pay attention. The subject matter wasn't that far out of her purvey, she mused as she buttoned up the sweater of her red-topped uniform. It was the application that she found unfamiliar. Exciting, she supposed, though her fatigue muted any sensation to a dim whisper.

"Coffee. Black," she commanded, and the replicator obliged, a precious ration gone to supply her addiction. The steaming off-white mug in her hand, she strode out into the hall to begin her day. A few snappy salutes from the crew, some with more irony than others, and she found herself in the conference room, attempting to get a read on the situation on the surface.

Her senior staff was somewhat thinned, with Tuvok and Chakotay on the surface, but she made do. Of course, sometime during the night, communications had been disrupted. Apparently, there were periodic fluctuations in the stratosphere of the nearby planet that sent out plumes of ions into the thin atmosphere of the glinting moon below them. Sensors were barely able to make out the away team and their silicon companions, but there weren't any discussions with the surface. B'Elanna was, of course, working on a solution, but Mr. Kim was of the opinion that a wait-and-see approach would be most useful. The storm was predicted to last only a few more hours, which was approximately the time B'Elanna would need to reconfigure the deflector dish to push aside the plumes. The captain went with the young ensign's suggestion and, as a further bit of incentive, ordered the remaining members of alpha shift to their quarters for a little sleep. Gratefully, the room cleared of all personnel but Seven of Nine, who informed the captain that she was not required to regenerate for another three point four hours and, as such, would be in astrometrics.

The captain returned to the bridge, sat uneasily in her chair, and patiently sipped her coffee. So much of her job was either frantic combat or endless waiting these days. Exploration was a thing of the past, she felt. She shook her head and rubbed the thin spot above the bridge of her nose. Too much musing this morning, she admonished herself. What had gotten into her? It was probably lack of sleep. Well, might as well make the most of it.

"Ms. Nicoletti: status report," the captain barked.

"Systems nominal, Captain," came the clipped reply. "Engineering has been monitoring the levels of ionizing radiation to ensure they do not interfere with the operation of the ship. We've experienced a .2% drain on the aft starboard shields, but this is within parameters."

"Excellent," said the captain reflexively. What did she expect, really? They were sitting in orbit, babysitting a few away teams above the least interesting spheroid in the system. It would be absurd if not for the six valuable personnel and three injured aliens walking just out of her reach on the surface below.

"Any signs that the orbit of the moon is changing more rapidly?"

"Negative, Captain. The escape velocity and tangental movement have remained constant since Lieutenant Tuvok's initial calculations. By his estimates, we still have another 40 hours before the moon becomes unstable, barring any unforseen geologic events."

"What about the away teams?"

"We've reestablished contact with those on the moon. Two teams from exobiology were beamed down to the planet and have maintained open communication with us."

"Very well. I'll be in my ready room," said Janeway, then stopped and looked around. Who, exactly, was going to take her place in command with most of the senior staff off the ship or asleep? A red-clad lieutenant, a tall black man whose name she placed as Riely, stepped away from the helm and looked at her expectantly as Ensign Baytart moved over a seat. As she walked away, she heard the lieutenant call up a few extra members of beta shift to help man the sparse bridge. So he noticed their staffing problem, too.

She continued to nurse her cup of coffee, by now a thin cold liquid that tasted like a burnt out junction. There were any number of things she should be doing: duty reports, damage analysis, resource allotment. She turned her slate-blue eyes towards her computer screen and activated it, scanning through the various messages that had accumulated through the night. She glossed over them in turn: results from night repairs to a sensory array, a formal complaint about a crewman acting unprofessionally in a holodeck, a reminder from the doctor that crew physicals were long overdue, a book report from Naomi Wildman that made the captain pause and smile. The young woman was growing so quickly and, as part of her accelerated development, was making good use of the ship's library. Janeway marked that message for special consideration later on. And, submitted at 0250 hours, the supply request from Ensign Irae.

Janeway twisted her face into a mix of surprise, amusement, and consternation. The list was exhaustive, enough so that she found herself poking through to see if the ensign had included the proverbial kitchen sink. It was absent, if only because the ensign probably wouldn't crack jokes that early in the morning. Sterilizers, extra bioneural gel, a few sheets of reinforced tritanium, the use of holodeck 3 for twenty-four hours straight, permission for Neelix to personally bring food to proteomics at 1300 hours every day. It was the most absurd yet specific list that she had ever encountered. Janeway found herself wanting to grant all of the requests, if only to see what resulted.

She glanced at the antique timepiece and then back at the mountain of orange flashing lights, all of which demanded her currently frayed attention. "Computer, where is Ensign Irae," she queried hopefully.

"Ensign Irae is in Proteomics on deck 4, section five."

Well, it was still a few hours before they were scheduled to meet, but Janeway desperately wanted a distraction as she waited for news from the away team. Entering the bridge, she informed them to alert her as soon as any department had any news, then took the turbolift to a lower deck.

Nestled next to the aft torpedo launcher was an unassuming room that was obliquely labeled, "Configurable Science Lab 1." Janeway approached and nearly ran into the double doors that unexpectedly failed to admit her into that area of the ship. Puzzled, she stepped forward again with no result. Several seconds of ringing the chime failed similarly. Indeed, all she could hear from the other side was the ominous thud of poorly-balanced machinery. Raising an eyebrow in mild irritation, she punched in her command code, only to be met with further refusal. It was all she could do not to throw up her hands and shout at the door.

"Computer, allow me to access Configurable Science Lab 1."

"Unable to comply. A level eight force field is in effect."

Level eight, she baffled to herself. Was the young woman expecting the entire front room to blow out in an explosion of antimatter?

"Computer, disable forcefield. Authorization Janeway Theta two seven Alpha."

"Warning. Disabling forcefield may lead to biological contamination. Do you wish to proceed?"

"I'll take my chances," said Janeway snappily. She heard the hum of the forcefield behind the door disengaging and she went through to a most unusual sight.

What Janeway had thought was the sound of misaligned equipment was actually the heavy thump of early 21st century dance music. The synthesized voice was almost inaudible over the grinding baseline, though Janeway came to perceive the ensign's own voice, comfortably singing along with the relatively nonsensical lyrics. Even more fascinating than the unusual choice in ambiance was the ensign herself. Clad in a slightly worn white lab coat, curly hair askew and streaming in black rivulets across her shoulders, she seemed to be...dancing as she worked. The captain leaned against the doorway and an involuntary grin plastered itself across her face as she watched the young woman shimmy back and forth between lab benches, injecting chemicals into plates, ordering around the computer like it was a disobedient peon, and tapping on one of the terminals. It was an utterly uninhibited and unselfconscious display that Janeway greatly envied and, for a tiny moment, longed for.

For a few minutes, Janeway observed the young woman, but also let her gaze go across the rest of the room. The outer section was dimmed to only its security lights, while the part near the ensign was brightly lit. The lab was incredibly bare except for the section in which the ensign was working. All but one chair was neatly tucked into a clear section of beige table. The computers were sealed in a protective layer of polyvinyl acetate, their black surfaces signaling present disuse. There were no padds or any clutter save a single plant that, based on leaf shape, was being attacked by bugs. She made a mental note to bring it down to hydroponics for spraying. Having an infestation of pests in a biological laboratory would be as disastrous as anything a level eight forcefield might prevent.

Her attention shifted back to the ensign as the music dropped in tempo and changed its tenor. Janeway did not recognize the language and the translators were electing to ignore the musical input. That didn't seem to bother the object of her study, though. The ensign's body swayed in rhythm as she sang along, easily wrapping a practiced tongue around the non-human syllables, clearly enamored of whatever was being said even if she couldn't sing it in tune. It was during one of those choruses that she turned around and saw the captain, almost dropping the small piece of electrical equipment she was carrying.

"Captain, I'm so sorry. Were you waiting long," the ensign said apologetically. Her tone dramatically shifted with the next sentence. "You disabled the forcefield. Did you reinitiate it?"

"Computer, reinitiate bulkhead forcefield," replied Janeway, the grin still lingering on her face. Most on the ship would be hesitant to give their captain an implied command. As Janeway was rapidly learning, this young woman seemed to have almost no qualms about violating protocol, at least when it came to her science.

"Thank you, Captain. If any of my experiments go wrong, they could, ah, potentially contaminate bioneural gel elsewhere on the ship. I maintain a tight lab." The explanation seemed a little forced, though Janeway elected to ignore it.

"I appreciate your dedication to security, even if it seems overdone." The captain took a confident step forward and the girl waved her hands frantically.

"Wait, wait," she cried. "You'll incinerate yourself." Abruptly, the captain stopped and tensed up, watching a flurry of activity from the inner recesses of the lab. Things were capped and a liquid was misted over the entire surface, then the young woman told the computer, "Disengage all local security forcefields. Do not reengage until my command."

Janeway watched a shimmer of blue, followed by a shimmer of green, and then another shimmer of blue. Her eyebrows threatened to leave the top of her forehead.

"Two level 10 forcefields and a Borg restraining field? What exactly do you do down here," said Janeway icily.

"I'm protecting the ship," replied the girl coolly. The lovely freedom with which she'd comported herself before was being swiftly overwritten by this deadly calm. Indicating a red-emblazoned container with one finger, she said, "The materials in there could liquefy the brains of everyone on the ship if they managed to get into the ventilation. If I make an error, I should be the only one who suffers."

Janeway took a moment to reply. She'd been looking forward to this meeting but it had gone completely antagonistically from the moment she'd opened her mouth. Perhaps this relationship was better conducted through video logs.

"I...always appreciate the lengths my crew goes through to protect this ship," she said evenly, trying to redirect the flow of conversation. "I am not here, though, to criticize your security. I am fascinated by your research. Will you please show it to me?"

The girl's demeanor shifted slightly and she indicated that the captain should come closer. The narrow segment of lab was a third the size of the outer consoles, with just enough room for three people to stand comfortably without colliding with the field generators.

The ensign gestured around her. "This is the wet lab, which was my primary duty station in the Daystrom. It was recreated here on Voyager, though the accommodations are a bit cramped."

Janeway nodded, though she wondered why the lab hadn't been extended into the outer compartment. It might not have been sufficiently prepared for the others in proteomics, meaning they were assigned elsewhere.

The young woman pointed to a pulsing array on the left. "That's my computer, which has a bioneural chip augmentation. One of the best in the field. In front," she pointed to the neatly-stacked cabinets, gleaming apparatus, and carefully lined containers. "Is the cellular modification station. It's where I grow cultures and do microneural work. I'm almost at the point of phasing it out, but I can't get away from it completely."

Finally, she faced the arching terminal of the bioneural interface. She ushered the captain into the chair and engaged the display, which made the elaborate screen fold out to surround the captain's head. Next, she drew out a thinner mock-up of the helm control of a shuttlecraft and slid it over to where the captain was seated.

"This is the modified bioneural console. Before we get to the good stuff, let's run a baseline demo. It's a simple flight simulator with a few of our less enjoyable friends thrown in to ruin the fun. Start it verbally when you're ready."

The captain glanced over the brightly-colored terminal and placed her hands on it, finding it slightly more cramped than the terminals to which she was accustomed. The trifold screen sprang to life at her command and she spent the next few minutes letting her fingertips dance over the glossy black surface, easily outmaneuvering and taking down the blocky representations of ten Kazon ships whose pilots were, according to the simulation, brain dead. So apparently, the ensign had been designing a system around the least competent fighters in the whole galaxy.

Her lack of praise was noted by the ensign, who smiled and said, "It has several thousand settings, including one that would make battling the Borg seem like a skirmish. However, this is an adaptive machine and one must walk before one can run. Or fly." She moved aside the dummy terminal and gingerly uncovered the bioneural surface.

"Now for the fun part. I present the first known direct bioneural helm control in the Federation."

Janeway eyed it warily. The shimmering grey surface undulated without input, shifting back and forth so that it rippled like a living creature. It was only a few centimeters deep and slightly translucent. Underneath, she could see a more conventional circuit board that had been extensively modified with tubes full of heaven knows what liquids and free wire endings that arched like twisted roots into the gel surface. It made her uncomfortable to look at, let alone to touch.

The girl looked crestfallen. "Would you like me to demonstrate it for you Captain?"

"No, that won't be necessary Ensign. We're in the business of exploring new things. So, let's explore," she said with determination.

"Very well. The first step is to, um, wash your hands." She gestured to a spray bottle that smelled strongly of solvent. "It's almost impossible to clean otherwise."

Gamely, the captain sprayed herself liberally, coughing as a mist of alcohol and other disinfectants wormed themselves into her lungs. Then, at the ensign's instruction, she softly placed her hands on the moving surface.

To her pleasant surprise, it was warm and pliant rather than slimy and cold. It yielded to the pressure she put on it. Then, it started vibrating under her fingertips and rippling underneath her palms. She felt the temperature inch up a few degrees and then cool.

"I assume that the gel is mapping my neural activity in order to optimize the interface," the captain observed. "I am being stored."

"Correct, captain," the ensign beamed. "It's a learning machine, as I said. The more you work with it, the more it understands you and your particular style. Now for the tricky part." She took a breath and exhaled her instructions. "The console isn't working with your muscles. It's working with the nerve impulses you send to your muscles. As a result, you need to execute the commands without actually moving your hands. You need to think the movements rather than making them. It takes a little getting used to, but it comes naturally enough with practice."

The captain arched her eyebrows. "Very well. Shall we try the demo again?"

The next runthrough was a disaster. She couldn't keep her hands from moving their practiced, intricate pattern across the console. However, since the gel was expecting constant neural connectivity instead of tactile input, her flying was something even a first year cadet would be ashamed of. By the end of the simulation, the surface was agitated and a dark brown, while the captain was agitated and flushed pink. She turned her eyes on her host, whose probable mirth was concealed beneath a layer of sympathy.

"May I help you, Captain?"

"By all means," she said with a wry smile. "Let's see if we can't get me flying this thing a bit more straight."

The young woman came alongside the captain, reached down with both arms, and gently rested her ochre hands over the captain's, pinning them in place with the slightest pressure. The captain involuntarily closed her eyes and suppressed an indecorous gasp. The girl's skin was unexpectedly cool, especially given the warmth of the room. Her skin was calloused at the junctions of her fingers, but delicate and smooth everywhere else. A few strands of the Ensign's hair brushed against the captain's cheek, making her aware of the unusually close physical interaction she was having with someone who was, until yesterday, a stranger. She could feel the girl's quickened pulse where their wrists touched and the sliding of fabric against her shoulder whenever the girl inhaled and exhaled. It was utterly electric for reasons the captain did not want to understand.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion, but short of strapping you in, it's the best way to help you accomplish this. If you're not comfortable, we don't have to continue."

Her voice was soft, just centimeters away from the captain's head, close enough that she could feel the girl's breath dancing delicately across her ear. It was exquisitely intimate.

She flung her eyes open, hoping the young woman hadn't noticed, and said, "Understood, Ensign. Let's continue."

The second trial was markedly better. Even though her hands often tried to shift as usual, the scientist's position kept them firmly in place. Now, the shuttle was responding just a bit faster than she anticipated, moving with an incremental increase in speed to which she was not accustomed. Janeway found herself overshooting her desired target, forcing her to double back to return to the desired position. At the end, she found herself both fatigued and exhilarated. She left her fingers flat on the console, feeling the constant weight of her instructor, and took a moment to look at the white coat-clad ensign. Her eyes were closed and her face took a mask of extreme concentration. Janeway thought to withdraw her hands, but she chose to experience the physical connection a few moments longer. A second later, the girl's dark eyelashes fluttered up and she folded her hands into her lap.

Rubbing her wrists thoughtfully, the captain spoke. "This is an incredible advance. I want you to begin testing it with more pilots. Let's see if we can't give ourselves a tactical advantage the next time we try to outfly the Borg. "

To say that the girl was elated would have been an understatement. "You mean that truly? You'll let me field test this with Ensign Baytart or even," her voice dropped to a respectful whisper, "Tom Paris?"

"Field test, no," the captain said, dampening the girl's excitement. "But I want them to come in and try this program a few times to get a feel for it. You wanted holodeck time? I'll give it to you. I want to see the kind of increases we can get through this technology. Also, I'll bring Seven of Nine in this week. She will definitely have opinions on the efficiency."

The girl looked like she'd been given a brand new puppy. "Thank you. So much captain," she said with a trembling voice. "I promise not to disappoint you. This will be an incredible benefit to the crew."

"That is what I hope," replied the captain with an unforced smile. "I need to return to the bridge to monitor the away team. Thank you for inviting me down, Ensign." She rose from the chair and began to walk away.

"Captain," sang the girl after her. "If I may be so bold. You are one of the more skilled helmsmen...women...people," the girl stumbled. "I'd offer to let you have training sessions, but I know your schedule is so intense. So, if you want to come and practice when I am not here, I can provide you with the security codes and full safety protocols."

The captain turned around and lifted one side of her mouth in a teasing smirk. "You'd trust me with that sort of information after just one session."

The girl seemed not to recognize the humor. "Captain, there are few others on Voyager whom I know would take care of my equipment and my work as well as you," she said earnestly. "It is so wonderful to have someone who appreciates what I'm doing."

The captain felt a wave of fondness for the brutal honesty and the sudden vulnerability of the mostly unflappable scientist. "I would be honored to. Send them to me when you can and I'll find time to come down and fly your ship."

The captain strode out of the door, though not so quickly that she couldn't hear a poorly-restrained shout of success from behind her. She walked away, a smile on her coral lips, still rubbing her hands idly. She felt off center and her skin tingled strangely, which she attributed to the unusual texture of the bioneural interface lingering on her hands. Some part suspected, though, that her body was recognizing that no one had touched her with this amount of familiarity since Chakotay's failed seduction on New Earth. She mentally noted that she needed to spend a bit more time in Fair Haven, getting out some of this pent-up energy with something that would be less dangerous to enjoy.

Mileena nearly bounced into the mess hall to locate Neelix for her lunchtime repast. She'd chosen to go a bit later so she could have a chance to talk with him and to help cook, though the latter was driven by a selfish desire to trade some kitchen time for some biomatter to use in her lab.

The doors slid open onto an almost empty room. The Talaxian chef nodded towards her and hefted a silver pot of fruity-smelling liquid onto a brightly flickering burner. The substance splashed and the fire erupted into blue and green talons of heat. He seemed unperturbed, though one of the flames threatened to catch on the edge of his apron and light the whole thing ablaze. She approached cautiously.

"Mileena," he cried with typical joviality. "I was wondering if you were going to come before I closed down the kitchen until dinner. You arrived in the nick of time. The Eltnen leola-root sauce I'm preparing is poisonous in its first two hours of cooking."

She looked briefly horrified, then suppressed it. "Well, I'm glad to have avoided death yet again. Anything left that won't kill me?"

"I do have a fragrant salad and a yeast composite that makes an excellent bread." He brought out a plate and slid it to her, then leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, "The yeast is actually a Trabe concoction I picked up during the later parts of the war. Let's just say that I did some pretty unique business back then."

"I can imagine," answered Mileena, pushing generous forkfuls of the food into her starving gullet. She didn't think that something so disgusting in texture and composition could be edible, but she was in an expressly good mood. The grinning Talaxian picked up on this and gave her a second helping.

"You're looking chipper today. May I ask the occasion?"

"The captain came down to the lab and said that my work was impressive! She's going to give me more resources to do in-the-field testing! Well, close to in the field, but still!"

"That's wonderful," he said in the tone he reserved for everything from the birth of a child to locating an extra bundle of greens in the back of the pantry. She believed him, anyway.

"I know. I'm so nervous, but I need to keep thinking positively. And Neelix, it really is thanks to you that everything works so well. I couldn't have done it without you." She modulated her voice into one of sincere gratitude.

The Talaxian beamed as brightly as his cooking equipment. "Well, I'm certainly glad that someone on the ship appreciates my unique resourcefulness. I have to say it is gratifying to know that my years as a nomad have provided so much bounty to the crew. I must say that without me, Voyager would not be where she is today," he said smugly.

Mileena kept her smile in place. She felt guilty manipulating him this way. Feeding his ego was the surest way to continue to curry favor without being too demanding. And his contributions were numerous, though the most remarkable one had been indirect. Without him, the ship would not have received Kes' gift of a ten year push towards the Alpha Quadrant. He didn't need to know that.

He paused in the middle of his self-congratulation and assumed a more contemplative expression. "There's something a little different about you right now. It's not just confidence. You seem a bit lighter."

Mileena took in his words. "I think...I think that it's the same thing as you. I think that it's so nice to know that someone appreciates me. The captain was so gracious. I expected her to be cold and uninterested, but she wanted to be there. Actually wanted to learn what I had been working on." The praise bubbled out of her, erasing the annoyance she had felt when the captain arrived an hour early and caught her dancing around like an idiot.

"Well," said Neelix, clapping her on the back, "I am very glad that things are looking up. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to add the neutralizing agent to the sauce to keep it from eating through the pot." He trotted away and began rooting through his shelves, whistling off key.

She brought the rest of her food to the back of the room and leaned against one of the cushioned grey chairs that faced out onto the unfamiliar stars. She scraped the edge of a fork around the outer circle of the pale white plate and took a few more dangerous moments with her thoughts. There was something else, too. Something that fluttered around the back of her brain in a most confusing manner. Had she imagined the captain's reaction when she touched her? That tiny slip in the captain's demeanor when...Mileena pushed it aside. It was an absolutely inappropriate line of thought. For starters, this was the captain, who was a virtual stranger. Plus, it had been a businesslike exchange of physicality that should, without question, not be mistaken for a sign of affection.

But oh, and Mileena let herself slip into the realm of fantasy, the captain's skin had been warm and the auburn-haired woman had responded without drawing away. Perhaps...She cut the thought off again. Maybe it was the bioneural gel sending impulses through the captain towards its usual target. She'd need to run a diagnostic. That could be dangerous if she were working in tandem with another flyer. Her mind slipped back into work mode.

She scraped the rest of the food into the recycler and headed back towards the kitchen. "Neelix," she called back towards the cook, "do you have anything for me to feed to the gel today?"

"As a matter of fact," he said, gesturing behind him with his yellow-festooned head, "I do have a dish of Gordian liver that seemed to cause rashes in most of the human crew. I bet that the gel would enjoy that. Though I recommend washing your hands afterward."

"Will do. Thank you!" She wandered into the refrigerator, pulled out the chilled dish of wiggling brown meat, and brought it back to the lab.

A series of digestive enzymes later, it had been mercifully reduced to its base components. She centrifuged out the proteins and injected them into the feeding conduits that ran beneath the base of the console. Underneath its protective coating, the gel undulated and flushed, as if it were grateful for the nourishment.

"Careful, Dr. Irae," she muttered out loud. "If you anthropomorphize your experiments, you run the risk of their suddenly springing to life and growing unstoppably over the lab, consuming everything and everyone in its wake until it's shut down unceremoniously with a flamethrower." No, she'd let the whole contraption get blasted out of the bulkhead before she'd take that sort of risk. Everything was too precious.

With that, she ran another twenty sessions of basic training before going off to crow to Lauren in the transporter room.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Chakotay fidgeted on the surface. It had been more than 24 hours since they'd beamed down and his patience was wearing thin. Contact with the ship had been reestablished and there had been nominal supplies sent down, as well as a partial exchange of crew, but they were no closer to a solution than they were before. Even leaning on Engineering to increase the speed of repairs had done little to make the shuttlecraft more available. To his surprise, the damaged alien did not seem to further degrade. It...he..Arkat, merely lay there, crumbled in pieces, while the rest of the aliens milled about.

The translators, with significant modifications, had finally begun to ease communication between the two races. The silicon-based lifeforms called themselves the Abraxians. They had not yet achieved warp, but had some form of limited space travel that allowed them easy transit from their home planet. While this exchange of cultural information was appreciated, the translation software had not advanced enough to convey complicated medical information. Discharging the phaser into the ground had, as predicted, caused the surface to fuse. However, his companions indicated with surprising vigor that his using the weapon was quite unwelcome. Now, Chakotay was awaiting instructions from the transporter room to see if the annular confinement beam could be modified enough to separate their new friends from the surrounding rock.

"Voyager to away team."

"This is Chakotay. Go ahead."

"We think we've made a breakthrough. We're sending down some lead-lined blankets. See if you can surround the Abraxians with them." Harry sounded drained, but hopeful. "We've reprogrammed the pattern buffer to screen out things that are touching the lead face but not the cloth face. That should keep the aliens from being sealed into the rock."

"It seems remarkably primitive. You're keeping the matter stream isolated via 20th century protective measures?"

"We've tried it a few different ways. The biofilter is just having too much trouble with the silicon and we don't want to keep you waiting any longer. Short of trying to shroud you all in chlorine gas, this is our best bet."

Laboriously, Chakotay used a series of gestures and a handful of words to convey the instructions to his companions. A few moments of deep, rumbling conversation occurred among the three lifeforms. An agreement seemed to be reached and Plavan gingerly wrapped her fallen crewmember with the blanket, then crawled next to him. However, Dravix stepped back and wandered over to their crashed ship. He, apparently, had been elected to stay behind.

"We're ready transporter room. Three to beam to sickbay."

"Acknowledged."

Chakotay involuntarily held his breath, then exhaled as the familiar shimmer of the transporter disassembled him and blessedly reassembled him among the glowing grey lights of sickbay. The doctor rushed towards him suddenly and he took a large step back as the hologram began to intensely scan the still shimmering form of the two aliens.

"Sickbay to transporter room three. The Abraxians have still not materialized," said the Doctor impatiently, frantically moving his scanner over the half-phased sparkles.

"We know. The Heisenberg compensator isn't responding correctly. Something about the ionizing radiation in the atmosphere combined with the composition problems," answered B'Elanna, stress ringing her words. "Attempting to reroute power to the phase discriminator."

Chakotay listened as the whine of the transporter beam fluctuated in volume and the glowing forms dimmed and began to solidify on the biobed. Chakotay nearly slammed his chest when he saw them.

"B'Elanna, keep them in the matter stream. They've fused," he shouted in horror.

Like the transporter accidents of the early 2200's, the two aliens had partially materialized merged with each other. Plavan's torso was angled impossibly out of Arkat's chest and her one visible limb flailed powerlessly out of their joined bodies. The streaks of crystallized silicon that had adorned their bodies mixed in unnatural swirls across their glassy skin. The resulting horror was quickly retaken by the transporter and held in place.

"Goddammit," B'Elanna swore, "We're just not able to discriminate enough. I can't bring them out without having that happen again."

"B'Elanna," replied Chakotay with increasing desperation, "try to screen out trace elements in the silicon. They're different colors. Maybe that means they're composed of slightly different materials." Why the hell hadn't he thought of that earlier, he berated himself.

"On it." The link went silent and Chakotay saw the matter stream shift in its composition. He could imagine the frantic attempts to both increase the power of the transporter and maintain the integrity of the signal while performing on-the-fly adjustments. A few tense seconds later, the figures came back into view, this time as separate individuals.

"Ah, there we go," said the Doctor without inflection. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't traumatize my patients in the future. I'm a doctor, not a counselor." He continued waving the medical scanner across them, his face becoming more and more furrowed as he went along.

The Abraxians seemed remarkably unfazed by the whole experience. Either that or the incredibly subtle motions they used to convey emotion were actually screams of terror. Chakotay was momentarily gratified that the translator was still unable to do their language justice.

"I'm so sorry," he ventured. "Our technology did not seem to interact well with your physiology. Are you alright?"

They did not answer and Chakotay dropped his head, then confirmed with the computer that the translator was functioning properly. There were probably no accurate words to describe the momentary horror of being trapped within another person's body. He lapsed into silence and stood there, mutely, watching the Doctor finish his investigation.

"Fascinating," intoned the Doctor. "They seem to be fully silicon-based entities. Instead of carbon-based cellular structures, they are composed of a complex network of silicate crystals. They have organ systems that I can't recognize, no visible means of breathing or digestion, and nothing that approximates a nervous system. They are a completely novel race and I will require further study before I can try to help them."

The Doctor retreated into his office and Chakotay was left alone with the Abraxians. He shifted back and forth in his regulation-issued boots, tense and disconcerted. His discomfort was mildly alleviated when the sickbay doors hissed open, admitting the stern form of the captain, followed by two gold-shouldered security members. She ignored her first officer and approached the two aliens, then clasped her hands behind her and looked at them impassively.

"I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager. We welcome you to our ship and hope we can provide you with medical aid." He recognized the edge in her voice. She was clearly displeased with everyone on the crew who had botched the rescue operation thus far.

"I deeply apologize for the transporter malfunction. Let me assure you that this rarely happens and measures will be taken to ensure it never occurs again." Her eyes shifted almost imperceptibly to regard the dark-haired man. His lips twitched and he swallowed hard in spite of himself.

There was predictably no response from the duo. Janeway looked at Chakotay, then to the Doctor through the door, and made a single open-handed gesture towards their guests.

"Are the translators still having problems with their language," she demanded. "This situation is untenable; we need to be able to communicate with them."

Chakotay glanced hopefully towards the hologram, who was busily typing away at his desk. The Doctor did not look up, but replied, "As far as I can tell, we are creating sound waves at a frequency they can hear. I must note that they do not create sounds by flapping folds of skin with air. They have some way of vibrating specialized structures within their torsos, which is why the rock trick on the surface worked so well. This is one possible barrier to discussion. Perhaps they find the sound of our voices unpleasant."

"Is it possible that the deck or the equipment is somehow absorbing these waves? Should we provide some sort of dampening field," added Chakotay, trying to salvage face. The Doctor quickly caused that possibility to fail.

"If you are implying that they are generating waves sufficient enough to vibrate duranium alloy but not the air around us, you have an exceptionally defective knowledge of physics."

The Doctor returned to the main area of the sickbay and resumed scanning the two aliens, taking some care to examine the lower limbs of both. "Commander, didn't you report that one of the aliens had sustained some sort of damage?"

"Yes. Arkat had shattered, which left him unable to move around the surface."

"Well, that no longer seems to be the case. Inasmuch as I understand their physiology, they both seem to be intact and quite healthy." He strolled away to fiddle with a set of displays, appearing to be no longer interested in the conversation.

"But...," trailed off Chakotay as he looked at the two aliens. Sure enough, the pieces of the broken lower limb were imperceptibly merged with the rest of Arkat. It was as if the damage had simply vanished. "What happened?"

"I believe," answered the Doctor, his patience thinning with every phrase, "that the transporter correctly assigned all the matter associated with Arkat to his body and that somehow, it was reallocated to the necessary location."

"Arkat, is your leg whole," said Chakotay, hoping for a response.

"Yes," came the rumbling answer.

The captain seemed delighted. "I am glad to hear that. Are you in pain?"

He did not answer and her frustration mounted temporarily, then suddenly subsided. "Is this how your leg should be," she asked carefully.

"Yes."

"How would you fix your leg on your planet?"

"Epoxy," said Plavan, making a labored gesture with her two upper limbs, mashing them together in a coarse gesture of joining. The Doctor turned around, interested once again.

"They simply glue themselves back together? How efficient," he said dryly. "I will advocate for that solution the next time someone decides to practice knife fighting with the holodeck safeties off."

The captain ignored him. "Is the third planet in this system your home?"

"Yes."

"Do you wish to return there?"

"No," answered Plavan. For only the second time in their interactions, Chakotay could hear an inflection. He just could not tell what it was.

"Are you in danger when you return?"

There was no response. Janeway turned to Chakotay and steepled her hands near her forehead. "They simply don't have words for certain concepts. Pain, personal well-being, danger, probably because these don't have any sort of meaning. After all, if you can be reassembled whenever you are damaged, there's no reason for you to limit your activities."

Chakotay picked up on her lead and tried to run with it. "When you go home, what will happen?"

"Nothing. We are gone."

"I don't understand. Where did you go?"

"We went to this moon. We are here, now." Plavan's intonation had changed to something even slower. Chakotay got the feeling that she was instructing him as if he were some sort of exceptionally slow child who was failing to grasp simple mathematics. He had a flash of inspiration.

"Chakotay to bridge," he said, tapping his comm.

"Bridge here, Commander."

"Harry, run a scan of the moon. Attempt to isolate isotopes of all elements we've found so far."

"Acknowledged. This will take a few minutes. Bridge out."

"You have a hunch, Mr. Chakotay," said Janeway. "But I suspect I have the same one. The reason we're having so much trouble isolating our guests from their surroundings is that the moon is made up of members of their race, somehow glued together"

"Correct," stated Plavan. "We are here, but we are leaving." Her voice sounded less labored and Chakotay inferred that the translator was finally adapting to the Abraxians' unusual vocal patterns.

"Leaving," mused Janeway. "That's why the moon's orbit is so unstable. Tell me, how are you leaving? Why are you leaving?"

"The minerals we require for nutrition have been depleted. We will turn to dust if we remain here."

"You stripped your own planet bare of nutrients and need to locate another one? That's not the sort of behavior we're accustomed to encouraging." Janeway's eyes narrowed and Chakotay felt his feelings of apprehension return.

"Our mode of reproduction requires significant resources. We do not have a choice except to take from the planet. If we stay here, we will all turn to dust." Arkat was the one to answer. His tone was quieter than Plavan's, which suggested that he was almost apologetic for the resource requirements of his people.

Her eyes still narrowed, the Captain paged the bridge. "Janeway to Bridge. Scan the planet for any of the elements found in our guests. I need to check something."

A few seconds later, Ensign Kim responded. "Negative, captain. There isn't any silicon or silicate crystals on the planet beyond trace amounts."

Janeway furrowed her brow. "Very well. What can we do to help you on your way."

"There are thrusters implanted in the surface. However, our ship crashed. Gravan was dusted. The thruster was damaged. We cannot rebuild it without his help."

"Can we help you fix the thruster," asked the Captain.

"Possibly," said Arkat. "Return us to the surface. We will try to show you how."

"Bridge to Commander Chakotay." Kim's tone was hurried and excited. "We've located several thousand isotopes. However, they're mapped in very particular patterns. Isolated clusters are packed near each other and none of the clusters intermix."

"About how many are there, Mr. Kim," queried Chakotay with a smile.

"Approximately three million, sir."

"A whole population, packed into a planet," said Janeway with incredulity. "Just...waiting to adventure into space. Let's see if we can't get them on their way."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

_Captain's Log, Supplemental: We have returned the last of the Abraxians to their moon and, with their assistance, have rebuilt and realigned the thruster to their specifications. All that remains is for them to break orbit towards their journey._

Janeway walked towards the crashed ship alongside Plavan and Chakotay. Dravix and Arkat had already arrived and were making last minute adjustments to the crude-seeming rocket. She continued to marvel at how such a simple construct would be able to readjust the entire bearing of a moon away from its home, but she was reassured that this was something that had been carefully plotted. The conservationist in her heart railed at their going somewhere else after despoiling their home, but she knew that Earth's history was littered with people who had ruined their land and migrated elsewhere, spreading their culture and leaving nature to slowly reclaim what they had destroyed. It was a familiar pattern and she didn't have the moral standing to adequately debate it with her hosts.

Instead, while she was with the away team, she had learned more about the Abraxians. They had realized almost a century ago that the planet would run out of resources, necessitating some way of taking the entire population offworld. Her hosts conveyed to her that they were the final group from the planet, sent with the last component to complete their moon-vessel. Gravan, their lead engineer, had been waiting on the surface for the remainder of his team to arrive. Unfortunately, their equipment, the supply of silicate epoxy, and the engineer had been destroyed when the ship crashed. With the rocket damaged, it was likely that the moon would veer out of its intended course and potentially lead to disaster. The distress beacon was their last hope for keeping their entire race from being destroyed.

A few of Voyager's engineering crew looked up as she approached. One of them spoke, "We've rebuilt the rocket according to what we saw on the surface, including the timing devices. It took a bit of doing, but it looks like it will integrate seamlessly into their vessel. Assuming this works, they'll end up where they want to go."

"Very good," said Janeway with an approving nod, then turned to the aliens. "What happens when you reach your destination?"

"The thrusters will put us into orbit around a desirable planet approximately 10 light years from here in the Regat system. Equipment in the center of the moon will break us apart and we will colonize that planet," replied Plavan. That could have been excitement in her voice, but the humans had long since given up on interpreting anything regarding inflection in the Abraxians.

"How do we integrate you into the rest of the moon," asked Chakotay. He was cognizant that there were only a few hours left before Voyager would be forced to break orbit or risk being dragged along in the moon's wake.

"We require significant heat, in addition to the epoxy, to fuse to the moon," answered Dravix. "The equipment needed for this, however, was damaged in the crash."

"Is there any way for us to recreate the conditions required for fusion? Our ship is capable of generating great heat and we can synthesize the epoxy if you give us a sample," replied Janeway. She didn't like where this conversation was going.

"Even if you could, there is nowhere for us to join. The people underneath where we stand are too damaged to accept us. They would likely collapse during the journey if we are attached; they may collapse regardless, which is why we must seal the existing network instead of becoming one with them," continued Dravix.

"The core provides us with nutrients required to sustain us through the journey, through a silicon network that seals the exterior of the moon. Since we cannot join to it, we could remain on the surface for a limited amount of time before our matrices lost cohesion and we turned to dust," added Plavan. "I have examined the possibilities, Captain. We accept this."

"Well I don't," said Janeway through clenched lips. She quickly considered her options. Creating an external mesh for just the three remaining Abraxians would be unlikely to sustain them. She could leave behind a supply of nutrients, as well as a replicator or shuttlecraft, but a 10 light year journey without warp would be hundreds of years long. But, then again, not for Voyager.

"Would you permit us to drop you off at your new home? You say that the planet is suitable for your habitation. Can you stay there and prepare until the rest of your people arrive," asked Janeway. "Even if it's hundreds of years?"

"Probably," replied Plavan. She paused. "As long as there are nutrients, we can remain whole for thousands of years. This action is acceptable to us."

"Very well. Our engineers will help seal off the rest of the moon and we'll get you back to the ship."

For the first time, though, there was dissention. "Plavan, this is an not-acceptable situation. It is best for us to remain with the moon," stated Dravix. "That is our duty."

"As your senior officer, I command you to accept this offer," Plavan retorted, then rotated slightly towards Janeway. "We will join you soon, captain. Thank you."

Janeway returned to the ship and gazed out the viewscreen onto the seemingly dead moon, which she had learned was actually teeming with life. It was fantastic to imagine millions of bodies, packed together by glue and mesh, traversing an impossible distance to settle a new world. Certainly, it was the most innovative means of space travel that she had encountered, albeit the most crude. Perhaps their structure made warp speeds dangerous or perhaps, like the spawning salmon of old, they were merely driven to migrate in this way by some ancient force. She smiled and lifted her head thoughtfully. It was truly remarkable.

A few hours later, she received notice that the moon had been prepared and that the remaining away teams had been recalled. The Abraxians were invited to the bridge as Voyager slowly backed away from the moon's unstable orbit. With a sudden glow, the thrusters on the surface fired and the ball of silicate life-forms began to rotate and veer from its previous position.

"Adjust heading, Mr. Paris, one-half impulse. I don't want Voyager to be hit like a billiard ball," she cautioned.

"Yes ma'am." The view shifted slightly as the ship changed heading to fly approximately parallel to the moon's trajectory. After a few minutes of watching, the Captain once again ordered the helm to change course.

"Lay in a course for heading 105 mark 021 at warp 9. Let's drop off our welcoming party." She turned to her alien guests. "Well then, you'll have about four days before you arrive. Please feel free to take advantage of the ship. We will program our replicators to provide the necessary nutrients." She smiled at them as they left the bridge.

It would be the last smile she would wear for several days.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Within five minutes of the away team's presentation, the frown lines on Chakotay's face had furrowed so deeply that the two blue-clad crewmembers before him worried that he might sprain something. The speed at which he paced around the periphery of exobiology had quickened enough that he was almost jogging through the clutter. Tension knotted his wrists and his shoulders were set with a soldier's posture, broadening his already impressive figure to something more imposing. Even when his back was to them, the scientists knew that he was seething as he tried to repress his annoyance.

"Why didn't you come to me with this sooner," he finally demanded, standing sternly in front of his subordinates. He jabbed a finger at the display behind him, which displayed a rotating three-dimensional representation of a ruined city, with a smattering of unfamiliar symbols indicating key locations. A few red lights highlighted areas of the rubble, which is where he pointed.

"We only just confirmed it ourselves, Commander," ventured Ensign Golwat, a stocky Bolian woman whose skin was an even paler shade of blue at the moment. "The away team couldn't do much processing down there with only a few members."

"I don't want excuses, dammit," he snapped uncharacteristically. "You're just surveying a new planet, not conducting an archaeological dig. You know how to take a history and make assumptions. Spending almost 20 hours processing the data is completely unacceptable."

"Commander, this was the fastest we could have done it. We even ran it through 'Leena's magic box to speed up the translation analyses," replied Ensign Soohoo, leaning back unconsciously away from the fuming first officer. "It took us over forty landings-"

He grunted at the ensign's name and imagined the favors that she'd be able to extract from the hapless exobiology team in return for a few hours on her biocomputer or, as they liked to call it, her magic box. How many days of work would they lose running around at her command? He couldn't wait for Janeway to give the approval to formally redistribute some of Mileena's requests to other personnel.

"So what are we going to tell the Captain," said Ensign Soohoo, warily. She much preferred dealing with the Commander, given his usually even temperament and his extensive background in exobio. Nothing good could come of her meeting with the Captain directly.

"Computer, locate Captain Janeway," Chakotay said by way of reply.

"Captain Janeway is in her quarters."

He checked his watch. It was almost 2100 hours, late enough that the captain might have retired for the evening. He chided himself. No, of course not. Kathryn would never be relaxed enough to let herself sleep more than was absolutely necessary. She was probably arm-deep in duty reports or engineering repairs. There was, after all, no better example to set for the crew then to have their leader frenetically working at almost all hours, regardless of her health or mental state.

"Chakotay to Janeway. I'm sorry to disturb you on your time away."

"It's quite all right, Commander. I was just going over Naomi Wildman's book report. What can I do for you?"

"I think you need to come down to exobiology. The away team has something to show you."

"On my way." The comm went silent.

Golwat and Soohoo exchanged a look of muted fear. He was going to throw them in front of the Captain, presumably to explain their utter failure to detect significant cultural and geologic findings on the planet. The commander had lowered himself into a chair and was combing through his hair with this broad fingers. He didn't seem to relish the thought any more than they did. It wasn't necessarily a culture of fear that Janeway maintained onboard, after all. She just had a tremendously narrow margin for error. Would she view this as sloppiness? A perception that they were slacking off? It was hard to predict. On the flip side, there wasn't much she could do to them that they weren't already doing to themselves. Reduced rations? Already gone. Extra work? There were only so many hours in the day. It would be yelling and storming, plus humiliation. Soohoo quietly typed a message to Mileena, suggesting that they wouldn't be trading shifts tonight, either, because the world was about to end.

The trio wallowed in their personal miseries until the Captain strode in. Her auburn hair hung freely about her shoulders, which were uncharacteristically relaxed. Perhaps she had been taking a little time to wind down. Well, she was in for an unpleasant shock.

"Well, Commander, Ensigns. What do you have for me at this late hour?"

He looked over at the two women, but turned back towards his Captain and led her over to the screen where the city layout was blandly rotating. Its fallen arches and toppled buildings were outlined in glimmering orange and twilight blue. Janeway leaned close, scanned it, and then tilted back.

"I'm not sure what I'm seeing here."

Although Chakotay began to speak, it was Golwat who threw herself on the bad news. "This is the result of the exobiology away team mission to the main planet. We mapped what would have been several large city centers across the largest continent. These were probably the capitals of their respective countries before, um, the, um, the decimation of the native populace."

The captain tensed immediately and whirled to face the guilty trio. It was as if a bulkhead had slammed down on her congenial manner, leaving only the fury and command focus they had come to know.

In spite of herself, Golwat kept talking. Maybe if she kept up the flood of words, it would cause the captain's bad humor to float away. "We, um, determined that the architecture was not, um, suitable for the Abraxians. The materials, um, the layout was made for smaller, carbon-based, er, life-forms. Probably smaller humanoids, er, shorter than humans? Um."

Chakotay came to her rescue. "We determined that the original inhabitants of this planet were an industrial society that had not yet achieved space travel or world unification. At some point several hundred years ago, the arrival of the Abraxians precipitated a world-changing event, culminating with the extinction of the race."

"How," demanded Janeway.

"It isn't clear," he responded carefully. "We've been able to process some of their records, though most have been badly damaged by time. There are references to demons from the sky in various artworks. There is also evidence of severe geologic activity, including mass flooding events."

"Likely caused by a new moon inserting itself above the planet and dropping millions of inhabitants onto the planet below," said Janeway, her blue eyes a veil of steel.

"We, um, we did a planetary, um, planetary resource analysis. Given, the composition and size of the aliens, um, it's probable that the Abraxians made several hundred thousand of themselves from the silicon in the planet. And, um,"

"And we did a long-rage mineralogical analysis of several hundred planets with a three hundred lightyear range. Many of them have also been stripped of their silicon. None of them currently show signs of advanced organic life, though some have evidence of past civilizations," concluded Soohoo. Her compatriot's hesitant speech was only making things worse.

Janeway had heard enough. "Tell me why we didn't discover this earlier? I wouldn't have invited planetary invaders onboard Voyager, nor helped them strip-mine another planet, if I had known."

"That would be my fault," intervened Chakotay. "We didn't send down a large enough team to adequately survey the planet. The structural analyses and predictions took far longer than usual, in part due to the paucity of written information. Let me assure you that we used every resource available to reach our conclusions in a timely fashion."

Janeway looked at her crewmen witheringly, then beckoned Chakotay and strode out of the room, ordering the computer, "Inform Lieutenant Tuvok that I want the Abraxians brought to my ready room immediately. Get the senior staff. We have a problem."

The two ensigns both sat down at their consoles. Golwat buried her face in her stubby blue hands and seemed near tears. "We've screwed up. We're going to be in the brig. I'm never going to see a starfield again."

"Stop it," said Soohoo, smothering her own distraught thoughts in a layer of righteous rage. She gestured with a ruddy, yellow-toned arm. "Didn't you do your job? Didn't I do mine? We can't be held responsible for not being able to push the computers any faster than they already are. It's not fair."

"No, it's not," said Golwat, wilting onto the table. "But we don't have a choice. I wish-"

"It's pointless to wish. We just keep working, okay? Keep busy. We'll finish up the shift and worry about it in the morning."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

The conference room vibrated with stress as Janeway circled the three Abraxians. Nearby, Tuvok and Chakotay held themselves against the door while B'Elanna and Paris sat as far away from the captain as possible. Although she stood several inches shorter than the silicate aliens, her rage made her seem almost at their height. With the grace of a lion settling around her prey, finally stood in front of Plavan and gave her indictment in a low, cold voice.

"You murdered the inhabitants of that planet and of untold other worlds. Explain to me why I should not turn around and blast your moon into a million shards of glass."

"We must continue. We have no other way to reproduce or to exist except through minerals," replied the alien. "To destroy that moon is to destroy us."

Arkat also spoke, in the tone that they had come to recognize as apologetic. "We do not wish non-existence on the carbons. But when the moon enters their orbit, their planet experiences geological events that cause the carbons to be damaged. By the time we are awake, the carbons are non-existent. It is..." He grappled for a word, but couldn't make one that the translator understood.

Janeway rocked back on her heels and walked towards the window, as if gathering inspiration from the blurring stars beside her. However, she did not respond. The conference room sat still until Harry Kim walked in and gingerly handed a padd to the captain before almost sprinting away towards the far wall. She reviewed it, seemed unsurprised, and tossed the padd onto the table. She continued looking out the window, her face slack with controlled anger.

"It is interesting that for all of your linguistic anomalies, your ability to lie is intact," she said, enunciating every word with a hint of bitterness. "There are three other planets within ten light years of here that would be suitable, yet you have chosen the Regat star system. You could try to convince me that the route to that system is more safe, but we both know you would be lying."

She turned and crossed the room in three livid steps. "It's the only system with carbon-based life. Sentient life." From the end of the table, B'Elanna's hardened expression shifted to one of rage. A low Klingon growl barely escaped from her lips, enough to earn a warning glance from both Chakotay and Tuvok.

The captain continued. "A simple, agricultural race, at least for now. But in several hundred years, they will be industrial, capable of building machinery and tools, preferably rockets. That is what you need. You can't work the surface of a planet yourself. You can't even build your own technology." She circled them once more.

"You are parasites of the worst kind. You choose people who are not advanced enough to fight back. You devastate their world to weaken them. Then you descend from the skies, eliminate the populace, and ravage their world. Whatever technology you can salvage becomes the instrument of your next flight. And you have made us unwitting pawns to this genocide. So tell me, what do you suggest we do about it?"

The Abraxians were predictably unmoved and made no effort to answer. The room lapsed into an uncomfortable silence with all eyes on Janeway, who had taken up a wide-set stance in front of the aliens. Tuvok eventually rendered his opinion.

"The Prime Directive clearly states that we cannot interfere with regional matters, even when there may be an extinction event. Destroying the moon is an unacceptable course of action, as is attempting to warn a non-warp society about an upcoming disaster several hundred years in their future."

"We should beam down our guests and destroy the rocket we reattached," suggested Lieutenant Torres. She had once been manipulated into perpetuating a war through her engineering expertise. She would not be party to a genocide under similar conditions. "That would certainly satisfy the Federation's damn Directive, right? It would be like we were never here."

"That would sentence three million sentient beings to a slow decay in space," replied Chakotay. "I share your sentiment, Lieutenant, but the Prime Directive-"

"Does not apply to the Borg," interjected Seven of Nine, who up until this point had been barely involved in the matters on the moon. "The Abraxians closely resemble the Borg, except that their assimilation of materials and technology does not include organic life. It is inefficient," she criticized, then returned to her initial thought. "If the Borg were to approach this prewarp society and attempt to assimilate it, would you intervene, at the expense of three million drones?"

Janeway disliked the question, that much was clear from her face. She often considered the young woman's opinions too honest and too black-and-white for her tastes. However, the comparison held more weight that she would have preferred.

Softly, she mulled over her science officer's words. "How many civilizations have we sped by that the Borg eventually took for themselves? How many more will fall once we return home? We cannot let ourselves become the protectors of the Delta Quadrant. That is precisely what the Prime Directive aims to prevent. The Federation, and by extension Voyager, cannot pretend that it has the moral authority to direct the future of the galaxy."

"And yet," intoned Dravix, "here you are. This is who we are. We cannot be any other way. You aided our people. You brought us to space. Would you condemn us all to dust?"

Her temper flared again, but she did not respond to him. Instead, she told Ensign Kim to continue his scans of the approaching planet, then dismissed the entire room. She took another lap around the room, gathering her thoughts and spreading out her completely unsuitable array of options. She leaned towards B'Elanna's opinion, but the idea of an entire race starving and collapsing in the vacuum of space was too nightmarish for her to stomach. These weren't a violent people or a hostile people. As far as she could tell, this was the only way they could survive. At the same time, decreeing that an equal-sized society would be wiped out in global catastrophe was just as repulsive. Eventually, she took to gripping the edges of the window and bending her head towards the transparent bulkhead, willing an answer to come.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

"We are doomed. So, so, doomed," Alice Soohoo moaned, spinning with unprofessional vigor in the anteroom of proteomics. She tilted back the chair and let her gleaming black hair stream across the seat back, taking her frustrations out on the melted armrests with her fingernails. Her shift had ended a few minutes ago and she had fled from everyone associated with the debacle in exobiology. Instead of sympathy, she received an urgent, "Shhh!" from the main lab bench.

Within the forcefield, Lauren was carefully assembling a microtransceiver within the incubation chamber, steadying her hands as she manipulated the fine, hair-width wires into place. In theory, this would allow the grown bioneural gel to indirectly teach new cell culture without needing a physical interface. So far, however, she'd succeeded only in dropping and shattering the delicate crystal housing when her finger slipped, followed by crushing a second chip when she pressed it with too much vigor into its casing. This was why she always brought duplicates, she thought glumly, then chased away any doubts into her focused concentration.

Mileena was pressed against the closed bioneural console, trying not to breathe. If she could shut off her heartbeat to minimize her friend's distraction, she would gladly do it. It had taken so many trades and promises to get the chips made. Having Lauren here was going to cost her four shifts of engineering scutwork, but once this was built, she'd have so much more time on her hands. At least an extra hour a day to work. Or, she reconsidered, sleep. She gripped the sides of the bench and clutched them to relieve her tension.

Desperately silent minutes later, the three women exhaled. "Okay, that's it," concluded Lauren. "Want to start it up and give it a shot?"

"Yes, please," beamed Mileena, ushering her friend through the forcefield before engaging the security protocols and locking herself in.

Lauren pulled out another chair and threw a fond arm around the science crewman. There wasn't a person on the ship who wasn't keenly aware of the tremendous quandary facing the Captain. There was some blame directed at exobiology, but the average ensign knew that the chronically-understaffed science department was working at its limit. So the glances exchanged in the mess hall were sympathetic rather than accusatory. Ensign Powell was no exception.

"Ali, you're not doomed, if only because reprimanding you two would drop the number of functional exobiologists to a nice round zero. And you guys aren't nearly so incompetent that none of you is better than some of you."

The Korean woman let out a tortured sigh and lolled her head onto her friend's shoulder, allowing her wide-set eyes to drift close as she opened her mouth for a retort. Her reply was hindered by the long hiss of pain emanating from the inner lab. Mileena had engaged the physical connections, including the neural stimulators, but the analgesics had obviously not yet kicked in.

"Mileena, have I ever told you how goddamn creepy that is," ventured Alice, disguising her concern for her friend's safety under a veneer of mocking.

"At. Least. Fifty. Times," she gasped. Lauren shielded her gaze from the sight of her impaled friend, failing to ignore the tears that ran out from underneath the three-dimensional goggles. She waited for the inevitable exhalation of relief before lobbing her criticism.

"All these years and you still don't apply a numbing solution to your skin. I swear you enjoy the pain," she snarled without conviction.

"You'd be correct, Lauren, but the main reason is that I can't tell if things are wrong if I can't feel everything. Pain is a signal and a blessing. I agree, though. I'd like to have an interface that I don't need to stab myself with."

A half hour passed while her friends settled down outside, making assorted small talk about who the Delaney sisters were supposedly bedding this week. There was another series of bets being placed about whether Harry Kim would make good with Megan or whether he'd settle for fruitlessly lusting after the well-endowed Borg in astrometrics. Alice prodded Lauren about the handful of suitors she'd been trying to cultivate, but met only stonewalling, which she took to mean that things were proceeding smoothly. However, their banter was a shallow cover for their uneasy spectacle.

They both hated watching Mileena work, even though they had helped her develop and craft the interface. She'd been better at moderation when she first started using the console. She'd even take a day or two between direct inputs to let the skin heal up, contenting herself with just typing and whining about how slow it was. But over the past few weeks, something had driven her into overdrive. In the twenty-odd days, they'd both seen her covered in third degree burns or wandering the ship, exhausted from yet another all-nighter. They privately conferred about approaching the commander or even the captain to stop the experiments, but that would probably kill Mileena as much as it saved her. So, they sat by and let her destroy herself. At least she wouldn't be alone.

The proteomics' scientist was oblivious to their worries as she navigated around the bioneural interface. She established a visual and tactile connection to the new chip and activated it with a thought. The incubation chamber blazed with dazzling light and chirped a few mechanical beeps before being shut down. The other ensigns gave a murmur of approval, which Mileena returned more vocally.

"Oh, it's wonderful, Lauren. I'll be able to do so much more. Thank you. I bet you have to run out, though." Her voice was happy, but slightly distant, as it tended to be when she was working with the machine for an extended period of time.

"I'm going to grab food while I don't need to see anyone and then fall apart in my quarters." Ensign Soohoo plopped Powell's hand back into her lap and rose. "I owe you some time for the box, right?"

"Don't worry about it," said Mileena. A few seconds passed and then she spoke again. "You let me...sleep. It's okay. If I get the computer faster, it..." She stopped talking and Alice knew it was time to leave. She used her own codes to deactivate the front door and stepped away, leaving Lauren alone with her friend.

"Mileena, do you want me to put some cells into the chamber? You'll be able to run more tests if they're growing," she said hopefully.

"Can you get in," whispered the younger woman. "I-"

"I know how to bypass the forcefields without putting you in danger. Do you have some protocultures ready?"

"Y-" Her voice trailed away. Lauren knew she wasn't going to get any more useful conversation until Mileena disengaged.

The chestnut-haired ensign let herself into the inner body of the lab and, as she'd been trained, prepared the cell cultures with the appropriate growth factors and a smelly protein broth. She even remembered to put labels on this time, which she knew would please Mileena once she had returned to the world of flesh. One by one, she slipped them into the growth chamber and locked the gasket into place. A small sound came from the corner and Lauren knew she had done well.

She checked the time. She'd be missed from the transporter if she didn't leave soon. Against her better judgment, she placed her hands on her friend's shoulders. If Mileena noticed, she gave no indication. Her eyes wandered the console and noted with dismay that blood was already oozing from the contact points. The Doctor's instructions to let the skin heal for another few days went predictably unheeded. Lauren bent low and touched her forehead against the mass of dark curls.

"I hate this, Mileena. I hate watching you torture yourself. You deserve more than skewering yourself for a few milliseconds on a holographic simulation," she whispered.

"I give myself to my crewmates and my ship, Lauren," was the surprisingly lucid reply, though it was barely audible over the dull hum of the machinery.

"I...can't just...keep standing here...while you bleed," stammered the younger woman. She felt Mileena change her posture, brushing her hair against her cheek in the closest approximation of a reassuring pat she could muster while being impaled on a machine.

"I know you can't. Thank you, Lauren, for caring enough to let me do this. I wish..." and her consciousness slipped back into her work.

Ensign Powell let herself linger a few more moments before sealing Mileena into the lab and walking with barely concealed emotions back to her post. The next time, she swore to herself. The next time she saw Mileena driving herself into the ground, she'd go to the commander. If she said it enough times, maybe she'd believe it.

When the black-haired scientist finished her work, she took a moment to parse what little she remembered of the conversation. With dismay, she couldn't recall very much, which meant that she'd yet again shifted some amount of consciousness into the machinery. It never happened to anyone else, though she suspected her extended periods at the console had given her an unusual link. She'd run it by Seven of Nine should the woman deign to approach her lab. Even more distressing than the memory loss, though, was the sense that she had driven an irrevocable emotional wedge between herself and her closest friend. It hurt more than her hands.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Janeway adjusted her prosthesis, a series of flanged lumps across her forehead, and stepped onto the transporter pad in front of a grim-faced Ensign Powell. She had exchanged her captain's uniform for a brilliantly-hued dress of shimmering yellow and blue, surrounded by a golden tasseled wrap that extended from a comb atop her long red hair. Beside her stood an uncomfortably-shifting Tuvok, whose ears were concealed behind a similarly-golden turban and whose garb mirrored his captain's in both its impracticality and coloration. He carried a box made to look like carved ivory,

"How do we look," asked the captain without merriment.

"Approximately like the people on the surface," replied Chakotay, revealing no emotion. He, of course, though the entire costume was ridiculously fantastic. He'd hoped he could come along for the trip, but the Captain insisted that he monitor the goings on from the ship, presumably to give directions based on the ever-growing bevy of data from the planet below. They'd been in orbit for two days, enough time for Harry and Chakotay to assess the culture and comportment of this tiny civilization without being able to get a full team on the ground.

"Let's hope it's close enough to get this done. Energize."

The two figures beamed away in a series of blue triangles and Chakotay relaxed into a grin. "Well, I'm a little sad that I can't play dress-up with the Captain today," he said with a head tilt. He patted the transported console and turned towards the operator. His face went slack again.

"Are you alright, Ensign Powell? You don't seem yourself."

She dropped her gaze and he watched her compose her thoughts. "Permission to speak freely, sir."

"Of course. What seems to be the problem?"

"At what point does service to the ship become something to be concerned about," she said, cautiously.

He considered all the times the crew had sacrificed time, energy, and rest for their missions. He thought especially of his captain, who had to be instructed by the Doctor on pain of reprimand to sleep, eat, and relax. There was one notable incident of her being prescribed a holodeck trip, though that had ended with a psychic attack by hostile aliens. Compared to her, the entire crew looked positively lazy. He squelched that last thought.

"It's not an easy question, Ensign. I think it depends on the person. Obviously, if someone has pushed themselves to the point of being non-functional, that isn't desirable. I know that's not the answer you're looking for, though, and that you have someone in mind." He looked at her with sympathy. There was a sudden bond they shared, caring for someone who was expressly terrible at caring for themselves.

She averted her eyes. "Thank you, sir," she said, terminating the conversation abruptly. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"No bother at all. Please, if you're worried, come to me. Neelix may be our morale officer, but I'm the one who can enforce time off." He tried to make her crack a smile, but failed. He turned to go, hoping that his retreating form would prompt more conversation. It worked.

"Commander, one...one last thing before you leave," she said, not looking up at him. "The next time you call Mi-Ensign Irae to your office, have her roll up her sleeves."

Chakotay dropped his head and closed his dark eyes for a moment, letting the door open and shut before him. "I will do that," he replied. As he walked to the bridge, he paged the Doctor.

"Hello Commander Chakotay. What service may I render today?"

Chakotay rolled his eyes. "Can you divulge the medical records of a crewmember to me?"

"Over an open comm link," said the hologram, slightly miffed. "That would be exceptionally unprofessional. And, before you give me alternative means of communication, the answer is no, not unless I believed that the crewmember was a threat to himself or others."

"Is there anyone on the crew whom you put into that category?"

"The captain, obviously. If this were 20th century Earth, she wouldn't be allowed to drive a car, let alone a Starship, without more sleep and nourishment. Besides that, however, there is no one I can recommend."

"Very well. Chakotay out." He reached the bridge and settled down into the Captain's chair, hoping that her foray onto the surface was going productively. He pushed his eventual confrontation with the proteomics-based ensign out of his mind. More important things were at hand.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

The beam-down site was a spacious drawing room draped with gauzy silks and bejeweled tapestries. Oil lamps flickered merrily behind panels of stained glass that depicted huntsmen at their sport, ladies bathing, and beasts laying in the fields. The divans were of an ornate carved wood that gave off a heady, perfumed scent as they walked past. The ambiance was outrageously opulent, though Janeway had expected no less when she chose to speak to the Lord of this land.

A greyish-skinned man with four perfect spheres under his skin glanced in the room and startled. Peering in through the crystal-framed doors, he fixed a puzzled gaze on his unexpected guests.

"I beg your pardon. How did you get in here? Is the Lord expecting you?"

"I believe he is," answered Janeway smoothly. "We are from the Northernmarch and sent word ahead to your Lord of our arrival." She inclined her head and gave the tiniest bow, which ruffled the layers of her garment with a delicate swish. "I am Elkatarine of Voy'Agare. This is my manservent, Utvek." The Vulcan bent low at the waist and stiffly rose back to his full height.

The servant adjusted his black brocade jacket and ran his hands down his slacks to smooth out the creases, clearly nervous. How these visitors had gotten into the castle was unclear, especially given the regiment of the Lord's soldiers scurrying through the parapets and marching across the courtyard. They were dressed as nobles, though assassins and thieves could easily procure glittering clothing to fool the guards. If his Lord were to learn of this lapse in security, it would be beheadings for all of them. He adjusted his yellow necktie and swallowed hard at the thought. Perhaps they had arranged for an audience and he had not heard of it? That seemed the most palatable solution.

"Ah, yes. Of course. Please, this way."

The trio tapped lightly through the arching marble hall. Janeway allowed her eyes to wander over the stunning portraiture and artful carvings that nearly cluttered the walls. She felt as if she'd gone back to the Renaissance and was to have an audience with an ancient European monarch. She reminded herself that the kings of old had not treated those from the fair Emerald Isle so well; perhaps this reagent would be more receptive.

The cherry-colored doors stood fastened with a bronzed metal lock. A pair of armored halberdiers stationed on either side crossed their weapons as the group approached and one gave a coarse shout for them to hold. The trembling, dark-clad man said something to them, at which point they let him through before resuming their blockade.

"I shall let the Lord know of your coming." The servant disappeared into the room, which was hidden from view by a second set of doors and another set of fabrics. Clearly, the ruler enjoyed his mystery.

Janeway closed her eyes and hoped that the exobiology crew had made the proper arrangements. They'd set up this meeting via an interesting subterfuge involving a few bribed guards and multiple skeins of replicated wine. In theory, she and Tuvok were ambassadors from the little-known continent across the choppy Northern sea. Chakotay had been advised that the man behind these doors had the largest land holdings and the most powerful military of any on this part of the continent. His reputation was as a shrewd leader and cunning general, though that was as much as exobiology could cobble together in a few hours. He seemed to be the best target for their plan, which is why the captain now stood, dressed like a circus clown, in front of his chambers.

The doors opened once again and the remaining two humanoids were urged inside by the snarling guards. Much to Janeway's surprise, they entered a small, dimly-lit room. Unlike the rest of the manor, it was drab and sparsely furnished. The ceilings were low, the floors scuffed, and the paint chipping at the edges. Save a dull brown flat-paneled door on the far side, the room was bare-walled.

In the middle of the chamber, a burly man sat on an uncarved wood chair, flanked by a slim young man and a red-skinned young woman. He leaned his tree trunk-sized forearms on a flat table and watched the trio enter from green eyes underneath a gnarled brown beard that was streaked with grey. Janeway felt a twinge of apprehension. Perhaps they had been misled about the nature of the man sitting before them. He looked more like a barbarian than a nobleman, especially given the rest of his dwelling.

Silence blanketed the room. The captain reviewed protocols from a hundred different races, most of which assumed that one did not speak to royalty until spoken to. However, as the minutes went by, she felt herself getting tense. Something was tremendously amiss. The communicator beneath her dress was on and functioning, but she was loathe to use it and disrupt their entire plan. Why hadn't exobiology figured out how this culture handled introductions?

"It would appear, Lord, that you have been the subject of multiple assassination attempts. It is a logical choice to meet strangers within this room," said Tuvok.

Janeway shot him a glance. This was not the appropriate introduction under any circumstance with which she was familiar. Tuvok's reasoning was, of course, sound; the room left nowhere for an assassin to hide or for a device to be planted without being immediately located by the inhabitants.

"Indeed," answered the broad-chested man.

"Let me assure you that our purpose here is to give you tribute and aid, if you will have it."

"And I may, my dark-skinned friend," said the man, turning his head to look at the trio.

"I have been told that you are from the Northernmarch. We see few of your kind in our lands. Be welcomed to the Castle of Barvok." He gestured to the two people beside him. "My son, the future regent."

"I welcome you, Northern strangers," said the boy with practiced aplomb. The young man was dressed much like the servant, clad in dark trousers and a black brocade jacket. Across his chest lay crossed bands of woven metal that threw their reflection across the ceiling.

"My master assassin, the Lady Quel." The red-skinned woman in her simple white shift nodded her head graciously towards the group. Janeway felt a shiver run up her spine and began to notice the sweat beading on the underside of her thickly-layered gown. Where did the woman conceal her daggers?

"Lord Barvok," continued Tuvok. "I am known as Utvek, master of arms. This is Elkatarine, the Duchess of Voy'Agare.

The Lord said nothing, but his son openly mused, "It is rare that a woman speak freely in front of a king. Her type are best suited for kitchen work and quiet killing. It upsets the natural order of things." The captain let herself blink a few times. She was aware that most agricultural people oppressed their women, but she was hard pressed to recall a history book that recounted a caste of female cutthroats.

"That is true even in our lands. However, she is exceptional among our people. We follow her without question." Janeway suppressed a smile of pleasure.

"Well spoken, Master Utvek," said the white-clad woman in a bare, accented whisper. "True loyalty is a gift." She gave Tuvok a meaningful expression, which he ignored.

"Very well," said the king. "I will hear your words, Duchess."

"My Lord," Janeway began. "My people were beset by vile monstrosities from the upper reaches of the Rippling Mountains. They were men of scaled stone who resisted our arrows and broke our swords. Our weapons were insufficient and our methods primitive against their attacks."

"Troubling," interjected the king. "The prowess of Northernmarch warriors is well-sung at our festivals. That you struggled with these outsiders gives testament to their strength."

"My Lord is observant," said Janeway with a bow. "Eventually, my soldiers repulsed them, but at great loss of men and resources. Too many of my people have died; we will not last the winter."

"Is this an entreaty for help? For I am sorely grieved to tell you that the lands of Barvok cannot spare aid," began the prince, but his father cut him off.

"Let the woman finish, boy," he said, clapping the metal adornments so that they shifted and clinked. The young man flushed with annoyance, but ceased talking.

"We do not ask for help. Rather, we have brought a creature to you so that you may learn to defeat it. My servants have one captured and will bring it to the location of your choosing."

"A skilled challenge for my soldiers," cried the King with delight. "I gratefully accept your gift, Duchess. Send it to the slave pits beneath the castle. We will sing the tale of the stone men throughout the ages!"

_Which is exactly what I'm hoping,_ said the Captain to herself. _A racial memory of the Abraxians._

"There is something more," intoned Tuvok. He carefully placed the box on the table, slowly enough that the assassin could easily intercept it should she perceive a threat.

"Another gift from our Northern friends? Truly we are blessed this day," said the king. His tone was more hesitant. He reached a massive arm out to touch it and was turned aside by the crimson-skinned woman.

"Allow me," she whispered, and ran her fingers across the carvings, expertly searching for a hidden needle or concealed mechanism. Finding none, she handed it to her liege. "It seems safe, my Lord. Let my blood be spilled if it is not."

"What is it," he asked, turning the object over in his hands, shaking it once or twice before putting it down.

"My seer had a dream, a terrible portent," said Janeway dramatically. "She saw a third moon in orbit around our planet. It covered the sky with storms of fire and brought the waves up to shatter the earth. We all despaired of its meaning. But then the gods gave her a strange omen."

"That was," asked the prince eagerly.

"A massive tusked beast, pure white with blood-red eyes, wandered into our city and was slain immediately by our warriors. That night, the seer had another dream. When she awoke, the hand of the gods guided her in carving this box and the trinkets within." Janeway was having tremendous fun, especially given the enraptured audience before her. It had a purpose, though.

"As we left to come to your lands, she gave us the box and told us to give it to you. Her message was very strange" Janeway forced herself to look mystical and faraway. "The sons and grandsons of Lord Barvok may fail to open the box. But when the grandsons of his grandsons walk upon the earth, the box will open and the moon will be stopped." Janeway finished with a flourish and looked at the trio.

"What does it mean, father," said the boy, trying to pry the ivory lid off to remove the contents.

"I do not know," he admitted. He pulled the box back and banged it on the table a few times. It made an unpleasant clattering, but stayed sealed.

"Neither do we," added Tuvok. "However, it has been brought to you. It may be that generations will pass before there is a solution. We ask only that you keep it for your descendents."

"I will," said the Lord solemnly. "Is there anything I can do for you, my newfound Northern friends?"

Janeway smiled sadly. "We wish only for your people to survive by learning from our suffering. We must now return and prepare to bury our kin."

The duo bowed low and were escorted from the room. Once they were out of sight of the servants, Janeway tapped her concealed communicator and ordered them to be beamed out. She gratefully took in the sight of the transporter room and its apparently grumpy attendant before turning to Tuvok.

"Well, I hope this works," she said, removing a layer of her costume. "The writers of the Prime Directive are probably howling in their graves."

"That is unlikely," corrected Tuvok, "Especially since several of the writers are still alive. However, they may not have been too upset at your unorthodox solution."

"I can't take the credit for it," she said, escorting him into the rest of the ship. "Exobiology came up with the boxes."

"Inscribed with calculus and a simple circuit, ensuring that only a sufficiently advanced race would be able to interpret it." Tuvok was impressed, as much as a Vulcan could be. Within the box was a description of the moon-vessel's contents and trajectory. Assuming that the culture developed at the same speed as humanity, they might have enough technology to alter the moon's course or, if nothing else, resist most of the Abraxian invasion. It was all they could do.

Janeway sighed. They'd only have a little time to rest before repeating this whole charade for the other major powers on the planet. Even if one dynasty fell, another might last long enough to solve the riddle of the box and save the planet. She wished she had a better solution, but satisfying both her moral compass and the Prime Directive was almost never possible. Before she returned, there was one final matter regarding the Abraxians that she needed to attend to.

She strode, still dressed in her gown, into the brig. The Abraxians shuffled around their cell, but otherwise did not acknowledge her presence. She stood before them, hands on her brightly-colored hips, and pronounced her sentence.

"You will not be left to starve on an empty rock, as I promised, but you will not go unpunished. You will be beamed to the surface, where you will be hunted by your prey. Perhaps you will escape and feed off the land. Perhaps your kin will come and despoil this planet. Perhaps the carbons below will repel you. It is no longer in your control."

"You have no right," said Plavan, vibrating her scales together in what was obvious anger. "Your Prime Directive-"

"Is hardly being violated. This is a matter of local warfare. We will not interfere any longer."

With that, she whirled around and departed for the transporter room, where Tuvok stood with yet another box. Before they dematerialized, she asked him, "So, how are you enjoying your acting?"

"I find it much less pleasant when I am unable to sing," he replied, cocking one eyebrow with what a human might define as humor.

Her response was cut off by the glimmering transporter.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

_Captain's Log, Stardate 51446.02: We have left orbit around the planet after depositing the Abraxians on the surface. I can only hope that the inhabitants are able to interpret our warnings before it is too late. At times like this, the Prime Directive feels more like a burden than a guide._

Captain Janeway circled Deck 8 for the third time. She's been briskly walking the halls, burning off nervous energy while most of the crew was asleep for gamma shift. The steady thrum of the warp engines and the dim lights did little to soothe her, nor did she feel any less awake than when she left her quarters. She'd completed the third mission to the surface to convey her final cryptic message to a medieval-era king, yet she felt no sense of accomplishment or pride. Either solution would result in partial or total genocide and the Prime Directive was hardly fulfilled. She'd lain in her bed for almost an hour, persistently turning the problem over in her head as the ship sped away from her ability to solve it further. When sleep failed to come, she'd thrown back on her uniform and stalked the ship in search of fatigue or solutions.

She took the turbolift up a level and began another lap, but stopped in a few paces to find an increasingly-familiar blue-clad ensign in front of a bulkhead. Mileena bent in front of an open panel, using a microadjuster on the plasma conduit within. A series of whirs and beeps emanated from her position, followed by a whispered swear and a flash of an orange warning light. One pale brown hand rubbed the space between her eyes and her face fell into quiet contemplation. She stood up, set the tool on a ledge, and allowed herself a luxurious stretch, arching herself back to work out the kinks, which is when she caught the eye of her captain.

"Good morning Captain," Ensign Irae said warily, straightening up. "May I help you?"

"As you were, Ensign," said Janeway with a smile. "I didn't know that Engineering was so short on staff that they're borrowing from proteomics."

"Hardly," said Ensign Irae, sneaking a small grin onto her face before she bent back to work on the adjustments, "but William...Doyle, that is, was in my lab for a few hours trying to decrease transmission latency on the console interface. This is my way of repaying him."

"By cleaning the EPS conduits for him? I think he might have gotten the better end of the deal," replied the captain. It was a task usually reserved for crewmen whose actions were one punch short of being thrown in the brig

Another series of hurried beeps came from the panel before the ensign had a chance to answer. She heaved a sigh and breathed heavily through her nose. "My work survives on the good graces of other departments. If that means that I need to try to fix a .004% power drain in this bulkhead, then so be it. Though I would really like it if I could figure out why it won't accept my input."

Janeway walked a little closer. She looked at the young woman carefully. The dark circles under her eyes were almost black. Her uniform had lost its expected crispness and drooped unbecomingly around her hunched shoulders. The tops of her hands were visibly and strangely thinner than when Janeway had seen her last. These cues were simple for the captain to notice, if only because Tuvok and Chakotay had pointed to them on her own body on more than one occasion.

"Ensign, how many consecutive shifts have you worked? And please, be truthful. Digging through duty logs is not anyone's idea of an enjoyable task," said the Captain, being careful her warning with what she hoped was a modicum of caring.

The ensign stood up again and fixed the captain with her slightly-bloodshot pale yellow eyes, calculating her time awake, which was never a good sign. "I think...close to eleven. I only worked half of yesterday's beta shift, though. Got a nap from 1800 to 2000 hours. And I, er, gave myself a three hour break during alpha shift two days ago." She broke off her explanation and winced at the captain. "I'm guessing this is not the information you were aiming for."

"Not particularly, no." Janeway tried to muster a patented laser-like stare, but her heart wasn't in it. She managed a disapproving head shake.

"Though," she added, trying not to dig herself in farther, "I didn't work more than 48 consecutive hours. The Doctor won't have to revive me in sickbay again."

"I am impressed with your restraint," said the captain dryly. "Ensign, I must remind you that the quality of one's work declines greatly after more than 36 hours, which is evident right now." She reached out and delicately removed the tool from the ensign's hand, flipping it around and pressing it back into her grasp. "This device works better when the functional end is being pressed against the conduit rather than being waved around in its general vicinity."

With a snort, the young woman bowed her head, defeated. "I'm sorry, Captain. I just owe favors to so many people. They've all hel-"

"We're going to deal with your staffing needs at another time, Ensign. In the meantime, get some sleep. Captain's orders. In fact, take the next 24 hours off. If I find that you've been so much as thinking about your lab, I'll have you confined to quarters."

The ensign jaw dropped and her eyes lit up with fear, instead of the expected relief. She gripped the probe in a desperate, slightly trembling hand. "I have ten cell cultures that need my attention in fewer than six hours. They need a buffer swap. The-The connections need to be disrupted and...I can't...it will take another week to-"

The captain instinctively reached out to grip the girl's shoulder, steadying her. "It's alright. I won't make you ruin your work. Who else can help you?"

The comforting seemed to utterly fail. "Lauren...but it's in the middle of her shift and she's been assigned to help rebuild part of transporter room three. Alice...no, she's still sorting data. I don't know," she said frantically. "I...please Captain, I promise to go to sleep right after."

To Janeway's surprise, tears began forming at the edges of the girl's eyes and threatened to stream down her rapidly paling bronze-gold face. She resisted the urge to tenderly wipe them away with her thumb and then suppressed that thought altogether.

"Ensi-Mileena, it's okay," she said in a reassuring voice. Her hand squeezed the girl's shoulder a little. "I'll do it. I know my way around a biology lab. What do you need done?"

"I-Captain, are you..."

"Don't debate your captain," she commanded as gently as she could, "especially when she's trying to help you. How long do you think it will take?"

"L-less than an hour. I think I set up the materials before I left today. The protocol is in log 264. I...think you can access them without my clearance." Her mood seemed to settle as she talked.

Janeway pursed her lips and did not inform the ensign just how many hours of logs that the captain had been enjoying in her free time. Instead, she let go of the now-composed ensign with, who gestured towards the open grid.

"I don't suppose you're also interested in adjusting the flow through the conduit," she said with forced humor.

"Well, if you won't tell Lieutenant Torres about a 0.004% power loss, I won't," replied the captain with an appropriately wry grin.

The ensign clicked the panel shut, tucked the tool into one of her pockets and leaned against the bulkhead heavily. A flush came to her ashen cheeks. "I'm sorry, Captain. I never get emotional like that. I'm so embarrassed." She smeared the moisture away from her eyes and flung it away in disgust. "Crying. In front of my captain. Over cells? I really do need a break."

"Exhaustion often drives us to emotional extremes, myself included, which is why I heartily recommend adequate rest. Now, do I need to escort you to your quarters to make sure you don't accidentally get lost and find yourself in your lab?"

The words came out of Janeway's mouth before she could catch them. She clenched her teeth against the side of her mouth. Maybe she also needed sleep, since she'd just used an incredibly weak pick-up line without meaning to. Or at least, not consciously.

The ensign politely disregarded its potential intent. That or she was so out of it that she didn't hear most of the words.

"Yes, I'll head right home," she mumbled. "It's just around the corner." The fatigue was catching up with her very quickly now that she'd been allowed to stop working. She began down the corridor and Janeway began walking a step behind her. _Just to keep her from falling over, right Kathryn?_ said that persistent inner voice.

A few turns later, they stood in front of the ensign's door. With some difficulty, she tapped herself in and, giving no heed to the captain, strolled through, letting the doors swish shut in front of a very startled Janeway. Two seconds later, the ensign's door opened again and Mileena's horrified expression almost made the captain burst into laughter.

"I forgot you were there. I'm so-" She gripped the door frame with two white-knuckled hands, her tiredness gone with the realization of giving her captain an incredibly impolite brush-off.

"Good night, Ensign," said Janeway with bemusement. "We'll work on door etiquette another time."

"Good night, Captain." The young woman retreated into the room, emitting a strangled cry of embarrassment that snuck out just as the door shut. The captain let herself break into a wide smile and finished her trot around Deck 7. Then, as promised, she made her way to proteomics and completed the protocol. It was simple work, but satisfying in its own way. She had not done hands-on research like this since well before they left the alpha quadrant. She clicked the cell cultures into place and reinitialized all the redundant security measures. One less thing for the ensign to worry about.

She returned to her own quarters, undressed hastily, and lay back down. Now, she dared contemplate her new fondness for the girl. The young woman had a way of breaking through Kathryn's usual reticence in being close to the crew. They shared so many traits: dedication, a scientific mind, the ability to self-sacrifice. It would be natural for Kathryn to try and mentor the young officer. Yet for some reason, the feelings she applied to Seven and to Kes, when she was still aboard, were not quite working here. There was something else, something darkly appealing, in the way the young woman comported herself. Something that made her hesitate before letting go of her shoulder.

It was probably nothing, reflected Kathryn. Just her isolation kicking in again. With that in mind, she started up the desired log and set a computer reminder to go to the lab. Disappointing the girl would be one of the worst things she could do today. Sleep came shortly thereafter.

_Epilogue:_

Mileena Irae fell face-first onto her pillow. She'd had just enough energy to fumble through her evening routine and slide on a robe before the fatigue crumpled her. Even mortification of breaking down in front of the captain, and then slamming the door in her face, was insufficient to stave off the wave of tiredness that engulfed her.

As her brain shut down, she grasped a few last thoughts. "Wait, did the captain just proposition me? No, she would never do that. Wishful thinking, Mileena. She'd never have you."


	2. Chapter 2

_Captain's Log: Stardate 5….12: I've been informed by Neelix that this area of space is held by a race known as the Erato, who until recently were an active participant in trading and relations with the Talaxians. In the past two decades, though, their contact with the outside world has decreased for reasons he does not yet know. At his behest, we are diverting our course to their main planet._

The yellow-skinned Talaxian addressed the captain with his customary excitement, throwing hairy-handed broad gestures in the air to accentuate the most important points. Based on actions alone, it appeared to be all of them.

"And while most planets in the Delta Quadrant aren't exactly vacation hotspots, Erato Prime seemed to be just that much more extreme…a little hotter, a little drier, a little more invaded by violent nomadic races. That's why the Talaxians loved them so much! They were so adaptable. In the time that it took us to develop warp drive, they apparently spread to several star systems. Remarkable!"

"Yes Mister Neelix," answered the captain, trying to screen the boredom from her voice. They'd been around his topic a handful of times already. The only difference was that this time, the entire senior staff was in the room, watching him perform.

"Right, sorry, captain. Anyway, a few years ago, the transmissions from that part of space began dropping off. Of course, we had just finished up our own war, so we didn't think too much of it. Though, between you and me," and his voice dropped to an incredibly unconvincing whisper, especially given the number of people in the room, "we thought they were keeping a low profile because they'd secretly been sending some aid to the Talaxian forces and didn't wan-…right, moving on," said Neelix quickly, taking a rare cue from the captain's face.

"Once we got back on our feet, we tried reaching out to our old allies, trying to set up trade routes and the like. We never heard much from them and their area of space was remote enough that no one went and pad a social call, so to speak."

"But since we're in the neighborhood," said Janeway gamely, "I suppose we could drop by and see if they feel like having company."

Harry Kim tapped a console, changing the padds of everyone in the room to mirror his own. "We've done a bit of preliminary scanning. There are three star systems in range that have what appear to be clusters of humanoid life. Without a specific biological profile, we can't tell who or what's living on the surface."

"Responses to our hails?"

"Negative," replied Tuvok. "In fact, we were met with an automated message that advised travelers to pass by and speak to their head command at Erato Prime."

"Anything unusual about the planets themselves?"

Harry tapped anther button. Seven spherical grids rotated lazily in the middle of the display, their surface speckled with a few orange flags.

"There are settlements and other evidence of habitation, but the population clusters are far too small for the amount of development on the surface," he said. A series of linked blue channels extended from each of the flags, suggesting a network of now deserted towns and suburbs.

"So either a die-off or a migration. Any indication of what happened there?"

"None, captain. The message was very imprecise," said Tuvok in that tone that Vulcans used when they were suppressing the human emotion of annoyance.

"Very well. Send a subspace communication to the home planet indicated by Mr. Neelix. Tell them we've heard their message and assure them of our goodwill."

The captain turned to Neelix, whose jovial face was twisted into an uncharacteristic frown. His stubby fingers slid back and forth over the touch pad and he peered at the patterning on the grids. She gave him a few more minutes of study before inquiring, "Does this match with what you know?"

"I recognize some of the planets and I agree with Mr. Kim's esteemed analysis of the situation. These were all thriving colonies with populations approaching that of the homeworld."

"Well…" Janeway began, but was interrupted when Seven suddenly got up, nodded towards the table, and turned to leave.

"Is there a problem, Seven," Janeway said, annoyed at her Borg crewmember's sudden movement.

"No captain, but if I am correct in assuming this is not an emergency, there should be no reason for me not to leave when this meeting has run over its accustomed 30 minute time allotment."

"And where are you going," Janeway demanded.

"I have an appointment in proteomics. I estimate it will take approximately fifteen minutes, at which point I will return." She indicated the Talaxian. "Assuming Mr. Neelix is still talking, which is probable, I can be filled in with ease."

The doors slid open and Janeway watched the Borg's mesh-clad body depart. Neelix looked pleasantly unoffended.

"I completely understand," he called after the retreating Borg. "If I had a chance to spend time with Mileena instead of the senior staff, well, I might be down there myself. Oh now, where were we?"

Janeway looked away towards the door with envy.

"It is inefficient," declared Seven of Nine as she completed the piloting demonstration.

Mileena was glad that Seven was still facing the bioneural console so that Seven could not see and comment upon the disappointed expression on the biologist's face. Mileena knew this wasn't an insult per se. Many things that were normal Starfleet protocol, from using vocal communication to consuming food, were considered inefficient by the Borg's exacting standards. In fact, Mileena's taking offense at the Borg's comment would be viewed as no less inefficient than her work.

"Could you be more specific please," said the ensign as Seven rotated back and stood up. Mileena found her gaze forced upward as she tried to maintain a visual connection with someone several inches taller than her willowy frame. This action was hindered by the voluptuous body whose abundant charms threatened to drag her attention lower. She consciously searched out the Borg's cool blue eyes.

"The bioneural gel indirectly interprets nerve impulses rather than directly receiving information from the brain. While some time is saved, it is unlikely to be greatly improved even under ideal conduction conditions. It is unlikely I could make significant changes without detracting from my work."

"So you're saying that you won't help me remedy any problems because your time could be better spent elsewhere."

"That is correct," said the Borg, turning to leave.

Mileena's thoughts whirled. She desperately wanted Seven's help. In fact, there had been moments during her work where she'd contemplated asking the Borg to assimilate her. Certainly, a full array of Borg modifications, including a cortical implant, would be invaluable to her work. Weren't the Borg the epitome of learning machines? Millions of humanoid minds harnessed together in a flawless hybrid of technology and flesh. The terrible destruction they had wrought made their race so distasteful to the young scientist that she had taken almost a week off to reevaluate her priorities.

And regardless, Seven's respect for Janeway, whose views on the Borg were decidedly negative, would have prevented the Astrometrics officer from even entertaining the thought. As it was, Mileena suspected that what she was doing skirted dangerously close to what her captain would tolerate. Still, if the Borg were willing to take that risk with her, she could make remarkable progress.

"Wait, Seven," said Mileena hastily. "There's something else."

The Borg stopped and turned around, the skin above her ocular implant raised as if she were cocking an eyebrow.

"There's another version of the console. One that I think addresses part of your reservations," she said, suddenly reluctant. If this went poorly, Mileena could jeopardize her entire research.

"Then why didn't you show this to me initially? I have only a few minutes left until I must return to a briefing with Mr. Neelix."

"It will become apparent, I think, why I hesitated to show you this before. And, with all due respect to Mr. Neelix, I believe you may find this more interesting." The flash and hum of forcefields isolated Seven in the antechamber as Mileena engaged the safety protocols and readjusted the screen so that the now-intrigued Borg could see the outcome of her demonstration.

The adrenaline in her system made the insertion procedure almost painless. She easily defeated several dozen waves of fighters in a flashy manner that she hoped conveyed the appropriate message to her observer. She mentally marked ten minutes, then stopped the simulation and turned expectantly towards her guest.

"What do you think," she asked breathlessly, as much from exertion as expectation.

"It is…primitive," said the Borg with measured tones. "Using an external probe to access nerve endings is far inferior to a direct cortical implant."

"I am aware," said Mileena, flexing her fingers uncomfortably. "This is the best connection I can make, given the circumstances. Humans are incredibly resistant to implanting technology except in the most extreme of cases.

"I have noticed this," said Seven with a slow nod. "For all the technological advances of the Federation, there are few races who have successfully integrated any sort of cybernetics into their population in a meaningful way"

Triangles and wavy lines undulated before Mileena's eyes. She was having a frustratingly hard time focusing on the Borg's discussion. She shouldn't have been having this visual reaction after so little time in the machine, but she'd been working so feverishly that she was probably overtaxed and unable to suppress the sensory information. It was feeding back into her touch receptors, but the data were so complex that her body saw them as colors and sounds as well.

"Humanity dislikes technology or advances that could become a necessity," she replied, forcing the visual stimuli down. "The Eugenics wars turned them against genetic manipulation. The Borg's entire approach to technology more or less proved the Federation's point about avoiding cybernetics."

"You refer to humanity. Are you not human," inquired the Borg. She had sat down in one of the chairs and was now draped gorgeously in front of the impaled scientist. Mileena felt like an ancient zoological exhibit as the Borg watched her every move. It helped quell the increasing rush of beautiful colors and lines that danced through her perception.

"Only my mother. My father was Trill," she mumbled. Oh, Seven was so lovely. Almost as lovely as the songs she could hear through the bioneural gel. Dammit, she swore to herself. The machine was very much getting to her. She would need to disengage soon before she slipped away into that hypnotic state.

"Trill? Species 4523. You are not obviously of that designation. All Trill hybrids have markings," said Seven plainly.

"Yes well, there was a period of time when I was displeased with the Trill. I had the markings removed with lasers and have blended in as a human ever since, but I don't identify strongly with either race anymore." Mileena remembered those alienating years when she'd transitioned from the Trill homeworld to venturing among a hundred star systems, trying to shake the remainder of that oppressive, petty culture. And then the years she spent among the humans, trying to heal the division between her Trill self and human self, or at least trying to rebuild what was left of her personhood.

"Are Trill unlike humans in their approach to technology?"

"I believe so. So much of Trill society is based on integrating yourself with another creature. The symbiont combines with you in the most deeply possible physical and emotional ways. For me, the bioneural gel is just an," she grappled for a word, and not just because of the biological incursion, "an extension of that. I like it. It feels natural, in a way."

"So you consider this ship your symbiont? Interesting."

She tried to answer, but the words wouldn't form. The shapes, colors, and sensations became too much for her to bear. She paused, sifting through the hallucinations to regain language again. "I need a moment to disengage."

"Of course," said Seven.

The probes withdrew from Mileena's tortured arms with a rush of relief and wetness, as well as the evaporation of the phantom sensations. Next, she freed her hands from the curling tendrils of bioneural gel and took a moment to inspect her skin. The contact surfaces at her fingertips were barely singed, though flexing her fingers generated copious amounts of a pale pink liquid that flowed freely out of her arms and dripped onto her pants. Cursing, she fumbled for a towel and mopped it up.

"Perhaps you should go to Sickbay," offered Seven.

"It's not serious," said Mileena, "I have a dermal regenerator that I can use for this and the injuries are superficial. I'll be fine in a few days." She powered down the forcefields and the Borg walked back in beside her.

"Another inefficiency in this design is that you are required to damage yourself every time you use it." Seven picked up Mileena's injured arm, brought it up near her eye level, and peered at it. The movement made Mileena grunt in pain, though she had to admit being touched by the lovely creature was sort of compensating for it.

"And I suppose the Borg do not approve of that sort of sacrifice."

"An individual drone exists only to serve the collective, but needlessly damaging a drone to accomplish a goal is wasteful." Seven paused thoughtfully. "It is something that the Borg and Janeway share."

"That comparison…might not make the captain happy," grimaced Mileena.

"You are correct. I will not convey that information to her." Seven put down Mileena's arm and picked up the dermal regenerator. "It is more efficient for me to heal this injury."

With skill, she ran the device over the scientist's fingers, then up the scientist's arms, patching the injured skin and allowing the impression of a frown to bend her forehead.

As she was administered to by the Borg, Mileena continued her supplication. "That is why I require your aid. I want to develop an external module that will replicate the insertion. Ideally, I'd like a transdermal implant that could act as a static insertion point right into the brain, but I'm probably the only person on the ship who would get that. So I want to make a nerve contact fine enough to enter the skin without damaging the skin. Much like a large bioneural hypospray."

Seven put down the dermal regenerator, lowered Mileena's arm, and tilted her head at the scientist. "Your ideas have merit. I will consider them." She indicated the still-oozing contact points on her forearm. "You are no longer responding properly to the dermal regenerator. This suggests that you have been using it too frequently."

"I…know." Mileena said, staring at her arms. "It'll take another twenty seven hours to regenerate enough stem cells, at which point I can heal them fully." Mileena changed the subject. "How soon do you think I will have an answer?"

"It will depend on the captain's response to my report. I assume she will have questions for me and for you before allowing me to proceed."

Mileena went into a limited frenzy. "You're going to tell the captain? Why? Shouldn't Commander Chakotay be your contact?"

Seven looked at her strangely. "Your response suggests that you want me to keep secrets from the captain. Explain."

"She…probably would not approve of the direct interface. I want to see if I can adapt it to her specifications without letting her know what I'm doing."

"I see," said Seven. "I am reluctant to keep anything from her. My experience with the captain suggests that she does not react well to deception. It is not in my nature to lie."

Mileena closed her eyes. She could only imagine the dressing down she would receive from the stern, auburn-haired woman. Forget losing her project. The whole lab would be shut down and she'd be assigned to pushing numbers around in exobiology for the next sixty years.

"Hold off on telling the captain, then. I'll try to let her know and…yeah. Just give me a few days."

"Very well. You have two days." Seven breezed out of the room, leaving Mileena panicking for a moment. She tried to soothe herself through the mind-numbing yet precise task of swapping buffers in the neural cultures and inexpertly rewiring the microtransmitters into their synapses. She checked the outputs and relaxed. The vesicle transit numbers had remained steady since she'd recalibrated the ion concentration in the synthetic bovine calf serum. The samples continued to adapt to indirect communication, which was something she'd been aiming for. Solid progress, though likely unnecessary.

Now that Seven of Nine had entered the picture, most of their time would be spent adjusting the bioneural console instead of working on cellular mechanisms. After all, there'd be little need for coaxing pyramidal cells to duplicate their postsynaptic densities on artificial dendrites when the gel could be directly taught to automatically reconfigure its neural network to optimal parameters. Mileena guessed that this would probably the last batch of cells she'd work with for some time.

With the neurons sufficiently prepared, she excused herself to her quarters, wrapped up her arms, and tried to come up with a decent explanation for her superior officers.

Janeway, flanked by Chakotay and Neelix, gazed thoughtfully at the looming continents and whirling cloud cover of Erato prime. It was a turbulent-seeming bluish L-class planet that was surrounded by a ring of metal fragments. As the weather disturbed the atmosphere, the bridge crew could make out a massive crater that took up most of the southern hemisphere.

"Am I correct in assuming that what we're seeing is not natural," queried Janeway grimly.

"Correct," replied Tuvok. "The planet is surrounded by several tons of metallic debris bearing traces of plasma residue, indicating that a defense grid may have been present at some point."

"Are there any weapons detectable?"

"Negative. There are several clusters of what are likely communications satellites, as well as a space station with no signs of life. It is probable that most of the defensive capabilities of this planet have been obliterated."

"What about the population centers," asked Chakotay, his tone and bearing mimicking those of his gravely-concerned captain.

"As indicated by long range scanners, the humanoid lifesigns are concentrated within isolated locations, rather than being distributed across the planet's surface."

"We're being hailed," interrupted Harry Kim.

"As Mr. Neelix predicted. Onscreen," barked Janeway.

The slim, almost elfin features of a dark green humanoid, sitting in front of a lushly planted open room, filled Voyager's screen. With the alien's dark, wide-oval eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and barely present nose, Janeway was reminded of the sea sylphs in ancient mythology. That the humanoid's clothing was of draped, shimmering blue fabric enhanced that perception significantly. Across an otherwise-bald head were fine, evenly spaced chains that dangled down from the crest of the skull and jingled slightly as the alien opened the exchange.

"Greetings, Captain Janeway of the Starship Voyager," said the lifeform in a deep, warm voice. "I am Consul Arius Kant, head of the worldwide Erato consortium on extraterrestrial relations. I bid you welcome to our space." He folded his four-fingered hands and touched them to the middle of his forehead, inclining his head and closing his eyes.

"It would seem our reputation precedes us, Consul Kant. I am pleased to make your acquaintance," said Janeway, allowing herself a smile. It was a rare pleasure in the Delta Quadrant to be met with a species that was at least non-hostile, if not openly friendly. Then again, anyone with whom the Talaxians dealt on a regular basis couldn't be lacking in a sense of humor.

"It is good of you to answer our hails, esteemed captain," he said. "There are few in this area of space who have not spoken of your crew and her tremendous journey home."

"Well, there are many whose opinions of us are not as generous as your own, Consul," she replied, knowing the volume of the understatement she had just employed.

"Races too foolish to ignore the twittering of the Kazons can have their ill-formed opinions. The Erato are much more keen on actions, and certainly, your actions against the Borg and for the Rakosans, among others, have proved your worth." He grinned, showing rows of delicately pointed teeth that would be the envy of most Ferengi.

"You are very kind," she said, her face mirroring his in expression, if not toothiness. Before she could continue the exchange, she found herself being jostled by Neelix. She let her head drop and held back an unkind change in body posture, then stepped aside to allow him a more central place in front of the viewing screen.

"Consul Kant," he said excitedly. "I am Neelix, the Talaxian guide of Voyager. It is I who diverted us to visit your people."

"Ah, the Talaxians," said the Consul, the edges of his mouth drooping to a more staid expression. "It is with extreme sadness that we saw the resolution of your terrible conflict. We wish we could have done more to aid you after the atrocities at Rinax."

"I knew it," replied Neelix, tilting towards the viewscreen as if exchanging covert information. "We had always suspected the Erato had a hand in our resistance."

The expression on the Consul, rather than continuing to be friendly and open, fell further. The green of his skin darkened and flushed up to the adornment on his skull. Janeway was alarmed that the Talaxian had somehow offended him, but took a cue from Neelix, who nodded in sympathy as the Erato continued.

"It is our people's continuing shame that we abandoned our allies in their most needful time. Of all the wars in this sector, we felt that the Harkonan incursion was the least just and the worst resolved. But we were-"

Neelix looked like he was about to burst into tears as he cut off the apology. "Dear friend, dear Erato. There is no need to explain. Among our allies, you were the only one to have offered us any support. In fact, we are here to return the favor."

The alien resumed his initial coloration and gained a look of ill-concealed anticipation. "Are you indeed, Brother Talaxian?"

Janeway broke in before her morale officer all but promised the ship and its crew for unlimited service to the Erato. "What Neelix means is that he was concerned about the well-being of your people after many years of suspended contact."

"And you have inevitably noticed the damage to our planet and the dwindling population on once-thriving colonies," replied the alien, his color changing once again to something brownish. There was a laden pause during which time Janeway watched the diplomat battle furiously with himself.

"Captain," he said gravely, "I know that we have just met and that many have taken advantage of your technology. However, I would not serve my people if I did not use this opportunity to formally request your aid."

Janeway mentally berated Neelix for raising this man's hopes, especially given the obvious catastrophes the Erato had suffered. She tried to temper her bad news with great sympathy. "It may not be possible, Consul, for us to render it."

"I have heard others speak, often with frustration, of your Prime Directive. From the moment you entered our space, I have harbored the hope that you would speak to us and consider our plight. I believe that you could, if you chose, greatly help us without violating the dictates of your Prime Directive."

Janeway was impressed by both the man's boldness and his research. No one Voyager had encountered had ever made the barest effort to understand the Federation without first needing to run afoul of it. She exchanged a look with Chakotay, who nodded in assent. "It would be remiss of us not to try to help. I will send my first officer, Commander Chakotay, to assess your needs."

The Consul went, quite literally, white as a sheet. "Captain," he said, sorrow ringing through his voice. "That will not be possible. All Erato, including myself, are infected with a biological agent that is exceptionally infectious to humanoid life. While humans and other races may be immune, I do not dare take that risk."

Janeway, and she suspected most of the bridge crew, were immediately reminded of the Vidiians, whose terrible phage ravaged only their kind. Janeway was loathe to interact with yet another desperate, disease-infected race. Then again, at no time during this exchange were the words "organ theft" even slightly implied.

"It might be possible to modify the biofilters to screen out the pathogen as you board the ship," suggested Chakotay.

"That would be inadvisable, commander, though the idea of being disease-free fills me with joy," he replied. His color shifted a bit greener. "Being purged of the pathogen would mean I could never return to my home; the moment I breathed our air, I would become reinfected and it could kill me as it does so many of our people. There are few, if any, among us who would forsake our homeland to become exiles on your ship."

"We can erect containment forcefields around key areas of the ship," insisted Chakotay. "While we won't be able to give you a tour, it will give us an opportunity to meet face-to-face." Janeway eyed her second-in-command suspiciously. It seemed like an inordinate risk to take for something that could be easily avoided by technology. However, Chakotay was pursuing something and she had learned to trust his intuition with diplomacy.

Consul Kant gave a deep and formal bow of his upper body, so much so that he briefly disappeared from the screen. When he reappared, he his skin shading was a brilliant emerald. Commander, it has been so long since any of us were able to leave our home. Your gesture is welcomed in ways you cannot comprehend. That said, I will transmit everything we know of this pathogen so that you can make the necessary arrangements. However," he warned, "if you believe that there is even a slight chance of containment failure, you must not go through. My people will not see yours harmed."

"Send the information and we will contact you as soon as we know more. I do hope, Consul, that Voyager can provide you with assistance."

"Captain, by welcoming us, you have done more than you know." The screen went blank, then returned to the slowly turning planet beneath them.

"Thoughts, Chakotay," queried Janeway.

"If one good thing can be taken from our encounter with the Vidiians, it is that humanizing someone who suffers from an illness can be a great kindness and a point of progress. Trying to accommodate them gives them dignity that has so obviously been stripped away."

"Very well. Talk to engineering about the possibility of using mobile emitters to expand our options. I'd prefer not to hold the negotiations in sickbay and the transporter rooms."

"Or in Ensign Irae's lab," Chakotay remarked with a smile. "I'm not sure how she keen she'd be on hosting an entire infectious delegation."

Janeway paused at the mention of the young woman's name, then turned around for the turbolift. "I'm going to meet with her. She might not have a choice."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Janeway keyed in her access codes to proteomics and braced for the usual round of warnings from the computer, but instead was given instant admission to the small lab. The doors slid open to reveal the ensign intently typing not on the bioneural console or busying herself with her cell cultures but instead on the towering supercomputer that occupied most of the opposite wall. Usually, it resembled a gleaming monolith not unlike a standard computer core, albeit far more compact. Instead, the front doors had been folded back, revealing a three-tiered unit. The top, rather than being the expected circuitry, had an organic appearance of bulging purple hemispheres intertwined with silver tubules. They fed into the middle section, which was segmented into subdisplays, external inputs, and several rows of almost festive lights. At the bottom, a massive screen of diagrams and molecular models cast a violet light on the ensign's features.

The dark-haired scientist looked up expectantly as the captain approached, then smiled when instinctively, the superior officer stopped at the threshold of the inner lab.

"No forcefields right now," she reassured Janeway, standing and ushering her through, wheeling in a separate chair from the outside. "I'm working on the data obtained by the Erato. Engineering is pushing it through the magic box to see whether conventional forcefields will be sufficient or whether the Doctor will need to make adjustments."

Janeway came into the small back room and sat down in front of the closed bioneural console. "I believe there is a historical quotation about sufficiently advanced technology being indistinguishable from magic. Have we reached that point, ensign," she said with a wry smile.

"I have yet to produce a dragon from my calculations, but as soon as I do, you'll be the first to fly on it," returned the scientist. She sat down opposite the captain and leaned back comfortably against the computer, patting it affectionately. As it worked, the intermittent lights from the processors threw intricate shapes on the young woman's slight frame. Janeway found herself distracted by them, and the ensign herself, as the conversation continued. A single helix of raven hair had once again escaped the ensign's bun and Janeway felt herself reaching to tuck it back against the girl's head. Catching herself, she redirected her body over the console.

"It's an amazing computer," she said, hastily changing her mindset. "How much of it is the bioneural gel?"

"About twenty percent," said the ensign, gesturing to the upper tier. "It's been integrated into the processors so that during heavier loads, more of the synaptic connections are pulled on. When it's under the most strain, it's the most efficient, and the more it's used, the better it works."

"Unlike its creator," prodded Janeway gently.

The ensign's embarrassment was only for the captain's benefit and her apology was insincere to the point of ridiculousness. "Forgive me for violating your command to take better care of myself. I hope that I shall not see the inside of the brig for failing to get enough sleep, though the Doctor has threatened as much."

Janeway felt herself relax in the presence of the young woman. With so much tension in the ship and the relative isolation of command, it was always refreshing to be near someone who would inadvertently become casual in her presence. That sturdy scientific coldness had all but melted away in the short time the ensign had worked with the captain. Instead, the ensign reacted to her more like a colleague than a subordinate. The captain knew she should be enforcing protocols, but the situation just didn't seem to warrant it.

The young woman stood up and walked behind the captain. "So, are you here for a training session? The gel's been missing you."

"No, unfortunately," admitted the captain.

She'd tried to fit in more sessions on the bioneural console, but she'd been so busy that she'd rarely been able to stop into proteomics for more than a few minutes. She'd carved out a five-minute block every day to visit the young ensign and receive her latest update. She had to admit that the work was nearly as interesting as the development of alternate propulsion streams down in Engineering, albeit on a much smaller scale. But those quick interludes were all she could afford most days. Allowing herself the luxury of a thirty-minute game was out of the question, no matter how much she had come to enjoy it...and the presence of the young scientist.

She never wanted to acknowledge that sometimes, she let her hands become a little too active so that the ensign would reach over and expertly press them down again, with a teasing smile of exasperation as she, oh-so-professionally, held her captain close. Even extra sessions in Fair Haven hadn't completely quashed how electric the contact could be, which suggested to the logic-minded captain that of course the bioneural gel was affecting her in some way. Perhaps the bioneural gel was conferring its "need" for contact with its creator onto the captain, which was why Janeway took such pleasure in being touched. She'd need to listen to more of Mileena's logs to see if this had been noticed.

"It's very likely that the Erato will ask us to help cure their affliction. If we find that to be an appropriate course of action, I'll need to divert your resources to helping the Doctor." Which of course, Janeway told herself, is something you could have told her in a written message.

"I look forward to it," said the young woman, sitting back down at the computer. "After all, my background isn't technically in neural function. It's in proteomics. I spent most of my training trucking proteins at the Daystrom. Viral and bacterial agents are far more familiar to me than neurons." She looked askance at the computer and then to the other console. "No offense meant to my equipment."

Janeway checked the time. She should be helping Chakotay prepare for the negotiations, but certainly, she would do better if she were more relaxed. She elected to stay just a little longer to put her in the right mindset.

"How long were you at the Daystrom before you entered Starfleet," Janeway asked.

The young woman's face twisted comically, her mouth askew and her eyes crinkled. "Well, technically, I never left the Daystrom and technically I never joined Starfleet. It's an extremely long, extremely convoluted story." Her face wrenched itself in so many awkward directions that Janeway wondered if it would come apart. "But about six years."

Janeway arched her eyebrows. The Daystrom institute rarely took teenagers, yet the young woman before her looked barely over twenty-five. That would have put her among the brilliant scientists at the tender age of fourteen, and completing her doctoral work before most children could do basic algebra. Even in this day and age, though, Janeway recognized that it would be extremely indecorous to enquire about the young woman's true age.

"Who was your adviser at the Daystrom?"

"Mullhulon for the first five years, then Cronin towards the end. She did the bioneural work, but up until then, I was mostly working on telomerase interference assays. Extremely cutting-edge work on aging." Then ensign paused and Janeway noted a tinge of bitterness in her voice. "But I decided that there were other avenues that would better suit my talents." It sounded like a canned line, the same ones used when a crewmember received a sideways demotion via an undesired transfer. Oh, that would be another story in itself, noted Janeway. Established scientists rarely jettisoned their research after so many years.

"Cronin was amazing, really," continued the ensign. "The work she was doing was fascinating. The bioneural gel was one of the most revolutionary materials I'd ever had the pleasure of studying. Being stationed on Voyager was a dream, even if it meant that I had to leave my group behind." The bitterness vanished into earnest yearning.

"So when you record your logs, you're...speaking to them?"

The young woman, if that was even a correct appellation, startled and was brought back to an upright posture as the chair snapped back into place. "You listen to my logs?"

"On a few occasions," reassured the captain. "Just to brief myself and to learn the protocols. I don't make a habit of going through individual duty logs." Except, of course, when she spent countless hours experiencing the ensign's voice washing over her in a friendly rush of technology and science. No need to divulge that.

"Of course," nodded the ensign, easing herself back again. "And yes. Not to Dr. Cronin in particular, but to one of my labmates. Rigel Evantak, the second Andorian ever admitted to the Institute. He was my mentor and the first person to tell me that my note-keeping was awful and that my position would be terminated if I didn't find a better way to record my data," she said, a smile reaching her pale yellow eyes. "So when I talk, I talk to him."

"Did you send your logs back to the Daystrom when we established contact with the Federation," asked Janeway. She watched the ensign's entire posture fold in on itself and regretted the question. For every person who received overjoyed tidings from the Alpha Quadrant, there was someone like the captain herself, who had been brutally excised from the life of the man she had loved.

"I did," she said, the words barely audible over the whirring of the supercomputer. "I'm not sure who's working on the project to hear them, but if someone feels like it, the logs are there."

"You think they discontinued the work once you left," said Janeway with bafflement.

"The research was applied, not theoretical. Without an active experiment, namely Voyager, the group was probably disbanded." The young woman shrugged and stood, clearly discomfited by the exchange. She made a show of stretching, but her body language barely relaxed once she finished arching her slender frame. Then, checking the time, she moved delicately around the seated captain towards the bioneural interface.

"Well, I'm glad that you're continuing your research," Janeway said, following the young woman as she crossed the tiny lab. "And while I can't provide you with the sort of resources that you're accustomed to, I will try to support you in any way I can." Janeway suddenly felt like she had on the bridge, except instead of Neelix making impossible promises, it was her own mouth that was leaving her vulnerable to exploitation.

Mileena gave Janeway a sweet smile that creased the edges of her eyes but did little to lift the emptiness within them. Instead of responding, though, she reached around and unfastened a hatch to the left of the console. She separated the door from its housing with a muted clang, then placed it on the nearby counter. From another of the seemingly limitless cabinets along the back wall, the ensign produced a jar of suspiciously familiar green glop and made a shooing gesture towards the captain.

"What you can do right now is step back before I drench you in leftover stew," she said, uncapping the jar and draining it into a funnel that mysteriously appeared from the console's interior. A whiff of rotting organic material hit Janeway's nostrils and she tensed, then began breathing through her mouth. The food hadn't tasted that good to begin with. Encountering it some amount of time after its absolute expiration date was even more regrettable.

Luckily, the horrible smell dissipated into the air recyclers as the ensign reassembled the console and explained, "It's a biological system. It needs to be fed or else it gets cranky, or at least as upset as a pad of cells and tech can be." She fiddled with the latch and tapped it shut with the heel of her palm. The young woman removed the safety covering from the gel and ran her fingers over its glinting surface, watching the slurry move through the tubules within.

"Neelix isn't one to part with his leftovers," observed Janeway. His motto of "waste not, want not" meant that anything you disliked at breakfast would return at every subsequent meal until it was fully consumed.

"Oh, we worked out a trade," she said, her voice suggesting that she wasn't quite paying attention to the conversation.

"Really," queried the captain.

"Yep. When he goes to a planet to barter, I distract the merchants so he gets a better deal. In return, he gives me food that no one wants to eat and helps me find materials I'm lacking." She pushed a hand down on the gel and frowned at its discoloration. "Computer, measure nutrition uptake in the bioneural console and display it at 1 second intervals on the above monitor."

The captain stared wide-eyed at the ensign, who had just admitted to a tremendously unorthodox method of acquiring raw materials. Janeway wasn't fond of the implications, not the least of which was that two members of her crew were dealing unethically with alien races. The last thing she needed was Voyager's reputation as a violent ship of invaders to be further tainted with an insinuation of business malfeasance.

"Define distract, ensign," she said in that warning, low tone that often precluded an exceptionally unpleasant exchange.

The young woman rotated away from the monitor and met the captain's stormy blue-grey eyes with her own yellow irises. Every trace of the comfortable range of emotions Ensign Irae had displayed that day, from sadness to familiarity, drained away into a glossy veneer of scientific professionalism.

"Captain, please have faith that the members of your crew would never interact illicitly with members of other races." They both knew that was a lie. That the captain's most trusted advisor, Tuvok, had illegally obtained technology from the Sikarians within months of entering the Delta Quadrant was proof of how deeply false that statement was.

"However, much like others have done on away missions, Neelix and I employ a certain amount of subterfuge to produce a favorable outcome. We noticed by accident that when I approached him in a marketplace, the entire demeanor of the proceedings changed."

Her eyes arched into an expression that was nearly Vulcan in its severity and logic. "It would seem that the presence of an apparently attractive alien female often works in Neelix's favor. The merchants wish to impress me and I favor them with the appropriate type of affection when they acquiesce to my wishes. Nothing untoward, of course," she said, her tone carefully neutral.

"So you accompany Neelix on trade missions and act as eye candy to get bargains." Janeway was exceptionally uncomfortable with the blatant exploitation of her crewmember, even though it was consensual. The utter disregard for the principles of sexual equality and female empowerment made her queasy

"Captain," she said flatly. "I aid a member of your crew in acquiring necessary supplies while simultaneously conserving our limited resources. If dressing up in gauzy fabrics and fluttering my eyelashes means that the warp core doesn't breech for lack of containment materials, I'll sew the outfits myself."

Janeway bit back a response. The ensign knew about the mess on the Mokra homeworld, where the captain had been forced to impersonate a prostitute to rescue her crew and obtain tellerium. In many ways, standing boredly near Neelix while he wrangled materials was far less dangerous than nearly being imprisoned by a hostile government. But Janeway was the captain and it was her prerogative to put herself in danger to save the crew, an argument that died in the back of her throat when the ensign kept speaking.

"He checks for weapons and the demeanor of our host. There are security personnel milling about outside, as is common on away missions. I am armed and I have a communicator. I am in no danger, captain. Do not fear for my safety." Her tone did not soften, even if her words did. "I trust Neelix and I would ask, captain, that you trust me in turn." "

Janeway and Ensign Irae never broke eye contact. There was nothing logically or procedurally wrong with anything the ensign had said. The captain had explicitly authorized the crew to conduct trade within the confines of the Prime Directive if it would benefit the ship. Neelix was a master manipulator who, at the same time, would never put profits before people. And there was the tantalizing vision of the ensign, clad luxurious folds of cloth, smiling coquettishly at a hapless merchant from beneath a half-veil. Janeway gritted her teeth at the last thought. It had to be the gel interfering with her thought patterns. She'd really need the Doctor to look at that.

Still, something rankled her. It was a concern that had been growing ever since she'd learned about the scientist and her lab.

"I do trust Neelix, ensign, as I trust all my crew," she said, pursing her lips and trying to keep an even tone. "However, it worries me that you go to such lengths for this work, even when it's not an emergency. You're in the lab for days on end without rest. You take extra shifts on an almost daily basis in exchange for help setting up your experiments. You flirt with aliens to stock your shelves. Do I want to know what other means you use to further your progress?"

To Janeway's surprise and relief, the ensign displayed a cunning and toothy grin. "I play poker for replicator rations, then trade them for holodeck privileges and lab equipment. I can run circles around almost everyone but Tom Paris."

Janeway let out a snort. "Remind me to stay off of your table at the Sandrine." She rubbed her forehead and was glad for the break in tension. "Ensign, I feel like every time I meet with you, I have to remind you that you're working on a Starship and not cobbling together an underfunded lab group. What does it say about a vessel if her crew needs to gamble among itself for necessities?"

The ensign pondered her question, but not as long as Janeway expected. "That the captain has set up an atmosphere that rewards both professionalism and entrepreneurship. Also, that the crew recognizes that limited resources require creative solutions."

"Do you have an answer for everything, ensign," the captain asked dryly.

"Only for those questions that I hoped you'd someday ask." The captain was flattered and filled with all-too-familiar consternation. This girl was far too adept at pressing her buttons.

"Analysis complete," intoned the computer. "Nutrition acquisition at 22% of normal."

The ensign, disregarding the captain, swiveled back to the monitor and emitted something that sounded far too much like a Klingon expletive to be anything but a Klingon expletive. "And of course, the protein assimilator has gone offline for the third time in as many weeks. So that's ten hours of work ahead of me." She made a strangled sound of aggravation and closed the console, then looked back at the captain, dropping back into scientist mode.

"I will be more judicious in my approach to staffing and equipment needs, captain. I don't mean to cause you undue consternation," she said primly. "In the future, I will clear any unorthodox approaches with you."

"Thank you, ensign," replied the captain. "I'm tired of hearing you need to be relieved of duty. Please, use the appropriate channels and we'll try to get you what you need. I think I speak for most of the crew when I say I'd prefer to give you what you want and keep you out of your civilian clothes."

Once again, Janeway froze. It was another proposition. An incredibly blatant, completely inadvertent proposition. Except this time, the ensign was all too awake to disregard it.

The scientific professionalism never wavered. "Indeed, captain." The ensign did not so much as blink.

"I need to be going," said Janeway in a single breath. "Neelix...the quarantine." The words flew out of her as she stood, turned on her heel, and strode out of the lab. She was grateful for the forcefields and bulkheads that separated her blushing face from the ensign. They also muffled, unbeknownst to her, the completely unrestrained peals of laughter from within proteomics.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Mileena dragged herself out of the lab, having given up on repairing the protein assimilator until she had the undivided attention of someone from Engineering. She suspected that it was something as simple as a coolant link causing the enzymes to denature in the excess heat, but that wasn't her field of expertise. Disassembling technology wasn't comfortable, nor was patiently examining every inch of a mechanical system for a pinhole leak that was interfering with the functioning of her equipment. She was a biologist first and a bioneural hacker second. She'd prefer to spend seven hours on a microscope than twenty minutes flopping transistors.

After sending a meeting request to the commander, she entered Sickbay and nodded to the Doctor. The balding hologram seemed surprised to find her without third degree burns on any portion of her anatomy. He walked out of his office and looked her over with a practiced eye.

"Ensign," he said smoothly. "What an unexpected visit. What brings you to my Sickbay, if not the physical manifestation of your experimentation?"

"The Erato pathogen," she answered, gesturing to the console while making sure her sleeves fully covered her still-damaged arms. "I've begun the analyses. Have you had a chance to go over my results?"

"Of course," he said, summoning a haughty look to his holographic face. "I've been looking over them intensely. That is my duty as the Chief Medical Officer."

"Good. Let's compare notes." Mileena suppressed a hint of superiority. It was nice to have the information advantage when dealing with such as strong and condescending personality.

The two hovered around a console and watched the computer slowly render a three-dimensional model of the Erato pathogen. Both scientists exchanged a puzzled, slightly concerned glance. Instead of the anticipated bacteria or viral agent, the Erato's affliction was the result of a single protein of relative simplicity. The protein contained three individual lobes that were curved around each other like the petals of a closed flower. Nothing about the amino acid sequence or the individual subdomains was remarkable. Indeed, the only novel factor was that it apparently had killed some non-trivial portion of the Erato people.

Curious, Mileena tapped into the bioneural supercomputer in her lab and forced it to compare the protein to every known enzyme, prion, and structural molecule in the database. Simultaneously, she and the Doctor raised their eyebrows and tapped the console to re-run the analysis.

"Ensign, I thought you told me that your computer had an extremely low rate of error," sniffed the Doctor.

"It does. For every hundred billion operations, it will make no more than a 0.000005% deviation from the accurate value. It's actually more correct than your programming most of the time," she said, her spine stiffening defensively.

"Then why has it decided that this protein resembles every single known protein found in humanoids," he said, indicating the torrent of matches that the supercomputer was spewing out alongside the protein model.

"Because it does," said Mileena, her voice tensing as much as her body. "Technically, there's homology among all proteins in the known animal kingdom, which is why our ancestors conducted so many tests on lesser creatures."

"A most barbaric time," he said disapprovingly. "It's a wonder they learned anything at all."

She rolled her eyes and manually labeled the subdomains of the protein. "This one is unique because it's more or less a backbone for every protein. There's nothing remarkable about it at all, which is probably why it's so dangerous."

"Quite. If it can resemble anything, that means it can bind to anything, inactivating or activating without discretion. It's the perfect substrate for every known enzyme. Very, very troubling," he said, walking away. "This is going to be almost impossible to work with."

"Do you want my help," she asked, her voice rising to compensate for his sudden distance.

"Not at this time," he replied, brushing her away with a wave of one simulated hand. "I need to consider whether it is appropriate to replicate this on the ship since it could, in theory, bind to any slightly organic surface."

"Very well," she said with a sigh, and exited the Doctor's domain. She'd probably work on the problem herself, if only to keep her away from the bioneural console and the damage it was inflicting. Well, unless she found something else to occupy her time.

Transporter room 2 was filled with anxious engineers running through the final round of crosschecks before the Erato arrived. She didn't envy them at that moment. At the Doctor's and the Consul's request, they were modifying the biofilters to ignore the infectious agent while reconstituting the visiting aliens. It was apparently trickier than it sounded, especially given the ubiquitous dispersal of the protein in the aliens' bodies. Her research with the Doctor had been transmitted to the Engineers, all but invalidating all the work they'd already done. Mileena pressed herself against the bulkheads near the doors, breathing in so her lanky body did not jut into the path of the frenzied gold-clad bodies.

"'Leena, couldn't you have found this, I don't know, two hours ago when we started the reconfigurations," groaned Lauren from her post. "If we're looking for a protein and not a cell, we have to make an even finer adjustment to the filter. Oh, and it's more or less every protein? Do you know how hard that's going to be to screen?"

"Um...very hard," ventured the scientist. "Can't you just throw my forcefields on every surface so that nothing gets out?"

"Doesn't solve the problem of accidentally un-infecting someone who says he'll die if he gets re-infected. How does that even work," said Lauren, returning to the panel of electronics and running a red-tipped instrument over the interior. She glanced at ensign Charnock, who gave a thumbs-down as something materialized and vanished off of the transporter pad.

"It's possible that his body has adapted to the presence of the protein by generating some sort of binding or inactivating agent. Without the invading protein, the agent could damage his tissues or dissipate, leaving him vulnerable. It's difficult to tell without doing actual experimentation." Mileena paused. "He did send a great deal of data, though. The Doctor and I th-"

"Yes, well, great. Figure it out, okay," said Lauren, nearly pushing her out of the way as she bustled over to the main instrument panel. A few seconds of button-pressing later, the lights dimmed in the transporter room and the air was filled with the sound of the whole system losing power. The tow-headed ensign slammed her fist into the side of the machine, dislodging a panel on the opposite side that fell to the floor with a sympathetic clank. Ensign Charnock backed away, a look of consternation marring his otherwise attractive features.

"God dammit it's still not working. They should be doing this in the Holodeck where there are forcefield emitters already in place, but no, it's better to shield the conference room, Sickbay, the Transporter rooms," she began ranting, "Why? I don't know. They don't tell me. I'm just an en-"

"Lauren...why don't we take a break for lunch, okay? Hunger destroys science every time, right?" Mileena found herself in the unusual position of caring for her friend. "I have a few spare rations. We can go hang out in my quarters instead of having leola root faux-meatloaf." She tucked a hand around her friend's waist and escorted her out of the transporter room, the other engineers mouthing, "Thank you," to her as they departed.

A few minutes later, they were sitting cross-legged in Mileena's quarters, nearly inhaling the replicated pile of food. Lauren leaned her back against the firm purple couch and shoveled another handful of rough-textured noodles into her mouth with a pair of lacquered chopsticks.

"I forgot how good this could be," she moaned happily. "Too many lunchtimes spent humoring you in the mess hall has deprived me of real food, Dr. Works-a-lot."

"Yes, well, deprivation leads to greater enjoyment, correct?" Mileena sat on the thin beige carpeting, wrists resting gently on her knees, and tilted her head to watch her friend relish every bite of her meal. It was an almost erotic display of effervescence and delight that warmed Mileena's heart, then filled her with guilt. It seemed inappropriate to derive that sort of pleasure from someone whom she had turned down so many times. Besides, there were many pleasant rumors about the ensign's extracurriculars.

"Mmm, sort of like sex, right?" The fair-complexioned young engineer pushed aside her plate and sprawled across the couch, nearly filling it with her trim frame. "It's always the best when you're breaking a drought."

"Oh really," said Mileena through a spreading grin, crawling a bit closer and propping herself up on the edge of the cushions. "And who has had the pleasure of raining on your drought, m'dear?"

"Hah, well," she smirked. "That's something you're going to need to pry out of me. Just throwing food in my general direction is certainly insufficient to make me kiss and tell." She rolled over on her side and put her face nearly eye-level with Mileena's. "What about you?"

The raven-haired ensign blushed and leaned back onto her arms in a mediocre impression of a relaxed pose. "Well no one, but, maybe you...you know."

"Oh God, the captain? Still?" Lauren lifted up one arm and draped it dramatically across her freckled forehead. "'Leena, I know you didn't want me, but it's just insulting to-"

"Don't be like that. It's true. And she said she wanted to keep me out of my clothes and give me what I want," spurted the scientist. "Who even says that unless they're thinking something they shouldn't?"

"Mmhmm. Or you're just so desperate for some attention that you're interpreting casual turns of phrase as filthy propositions. Mileena, the captain isn't attracted to you, if only because your equipment doesn't fit the correct parameters." Lauren pulled her knees up and tucked her hands under her neck. "Do you think I can grab a 10 minute nap before I need to go back to the transporter room?"

"Probably, but it's a bad idea" sulked Mileena, changing the topic back to her wilting love life. "She comes to see me, Lauren. She's been training on the console for a month and she still needs me to hold her in place. Even that idiot who works the gamma shift comm didn't need more than two training sessions to stop flailing."

She remembered the feel of the captain's body underneath hers during the sessions at the console. It had taken all of her willpower to avoid pushing herself closer to the captain's petite form and burying herself in her neck. Having the captain's fingers rise and fall beneath her palms was a torturous closeness that she'd missed for so long. Lauren was right, of course. This was just the idle meanderings of an intimacy-starved brain. She listed the people on the ship whose company she had previously enjoyed and wondered who among them was still unattached and willing to fulfill her needs. There was that lovely young woman who worked beta shift helm, though Mileena had forgotten her name.

"Are you there, doctor," joshed her friend. "Or are you on some fascinating foray into the wonders of science."

"I'm trying to figure out who will sleep with me," Mileena said, going for the blunt

approach. "Since mooning after the captain is the definition of absolutely fruitless."

"Well, if you're offering," teased Lauren, swinging herself up to standing and pulling Mileena up with a proffered arm. "Kidding, kidding. Now, back to the trenches. What are you doing now?"

"I have a meeting with the commander to go over some stuff," she said, heading for the door and escorting her suddenly taciturn friend to the turbolift. "Oh, before I forget: make sure the forcefields include the air ducts and floors. You can refine them enough to let through just gasses. Anything bigger and you'll contaminate the whole ship. Goood luck," she sang.

The turbolift doors closed on Lauren's rude gesture.

Chakotay rubbed his temples and regarded his padd warily. While the rest of the ship was busily preparing for the Eratos' visit, he had been urgently paged by Ensign Irae to discuss the status of her work. While he ordinarily would have put off a simple check-in, several things were operating in her favor. An unexpectedly cryptic Seven had dodged his questions about her time in proteomics, other than to say that the work had some amount of potential. Also, he and the ensign had missed several weeks' worth of updates because the captain had briefly taken over reporting, at which point Janeway essentially ignored every department that wasn't Astrometrics or Engineering. And, of course, Ensign Powell's admonition lingered in his ears.

The yellow-eyed ensign almost trotted into his office and quickly reported the results of her meeting with Seven and the captain, pacing and gesticulating in a flurry of reporting. He was admittedly intrigued by all the variants on bioneural interfaces she was proposing, though he agreed with the ensign that Janeway would be furious if Mileena were to proceed according to Seven's suggestions without the captain's express permission.

"So what should I do," asked the ensign anxiously. She'd been vibrating with excitement and stress from the moment she came in. Rather than answering, though, Chakotay made the request he'd been mulling over for a month.

"Roll up your sleeves, ensign," he commanded quietly. His dark eyes brooked no argument, even as her face went pale and her body froze in alarm.

"Lauren put you up to this," she whispered as accusingly as she dared in front of a superior officer. She nonetheless complied.

Even before she had moved the dark cuffs of her blue uniform up past her wrists, he could see the damage. A set of bandages were expertly rolled from her elbow to just above her wrist. They were glaring white against her russet, copper-red skin, through them he could see the hints of blood and lymph that marked actively healing tissue. This was an ancient, barbaric fix out of place on a working starship. He shook his head.

"How many times do you need to use a dermal regenerator before it fails to mend the skin," he said quietly.

"The dermal regenerator stimulates your own stem cells into new tissue, so in theory you can use it indefinitely. But I've been working so hard recently that I've just," she looked down at her arms and turned them over contemplatively, as she'd never seen them before. "Just run out."

He tilted his head down and relaxed his body into the seat. There were no simple ways to address this situation and she knew it, which is probably why she'd been hiding for so long. He gestured to a chair across from him and waited until she perched herself on the edge.

"Ensign, five years ago you explained that science didn't run on ship's time, which is why I let you work longer hours than most. But I could trust back then that you'd sleep at least four times a week. You'd actually take your holodeck privileges instead of trading them for equipment, signing yourself off duty at the end of your shift, and staying in the lab anyway. What changed, Mileena?"

She massaged the dark spaces underneath her eyes. Chakotay tried to assess her relative level of fatigue, but she'd developed a skill at concealing it from him. He guessed that she was at the end of twenty-four hours by the color of her skin "I made a massive breakthrough a few weeks ago. I'll go back to a regular schedule soon enough, but I need to stabilize the inputs before the bioneural gel degrades them."

"Mileena, when you told me about the direct interface, I knew it had risks. I accepted your explanation that this was the absolute best course. I trusted you."

"I never abused that trust," she protested. "I've been careful. So, so careful. I have safety protocols in there that would make Engineering look like it was run out of a cardboard box."

"With the equipment. With the health of the crew. With the integrity of the experiment. But not with yourself," he said, extending his hands palm-open towards her. "If the bioneural interface is contaminated, you could lose time and resources. If you get an infection that destroys your nervous system, you could die. I don't think I need to explain to you where the line of acceptable risks lies in this case."

"I can't stop my work, commander. Not now, when Seven is willing to help me. I can enhance the interface so that it no longer requires a subdermal connection."

Her tone was professional, but had taken on the same pleading quality he'd encountered from too many other crewmen desperate for just a few more resources to finance or structure their pet projects. He'd driven bargains before, as was his prerogative; the Maquis were never big on hard limits. This, though, was approaching his.

"And how long would that be, ensign? A few days? Weeks? A month? I-"

"There is another solution, commander," she said strangely. Her jaw worked uncomfortably and her eyes could no longer meet his. She fumbled with her hands, putting them onto the table, then taking them again and dropping them in her lap nervously.

"I've been hesitant to...I...dammit," she said, using a rare invective. Now she looked again into his solemn dark face, steeled herself, and reached into a pocket. She drew out something and rubbed her thumb across the surface like a talisman. After gripping it with an expression that he could only interpret as sorrow and fondness, she put it on the table before him.

At first glance, Chakotay swore looked like a spool of metal thread. He picked it up gingerly and turned it over in his palm. The two flat surfaces were gleaming metal disks with evenly spaced holes punched through them. Between the circles sat a tiny translucent tube wrapped with ribbons of brightly colored wire. As he turned the spool over, he saw that the wire was embedded in the underside of each disk so that free edges of copper and gold radiated like sunbeams towards the edge. His mood soured even further.

"It's an implant, isn't it," he asked. He rolled it back to her and once again shook his head. "Based on the Borg's or of your own design?"

"The latter. Well, with help from Engineering," she admitted. Her tone had dropped back to detached professionalism. "Would you like to know how it works?"

"No, ensign, I don't. I want you to take this and throw it into a recycling unit. There is no way the captain or I will allow any member of this crew to modify themselves in this way."

"You allow Seven to keep her implants," she said coldly. "And not just because she'd die without the remaining complement. For all your hatred of the Borg, you encourage her to use them. How many times have her ocular implant or her nanoprobes kept us from dying? Five? Six?"

Chakotay absorbed her words carefully and examined his rationale. The ensign was rarely petty, arbitrary, or prone to outbursts of emotionality. In the five years of status reports they'd shared, she'd rarely let him into anything other than the surface of her work. Now that things were progressing, he was going to shut her off because he found this offensive. But why, he asked himself. She wasn't trying to assimilate the crew. And he had to admit she was right. Seven's Borg-ness had been invaluable on more than one occasion.

"Mileena, you know that's not the same. It is everyone's goal for Seven to regain her humanity and divest herself of her remaining implants."

"I would disagree with you, but I have a feeling this is futile." He recognized the inflection in those words and winced.

"Ensign, if you knew my opinion and my answer, why did you even propose the idea?"

"Because I respect you and the captain too much to have the surgery done without your knowledge," she said bitterly. "I could have had them implanted a year ago on one of the advanced planets we passed, but I wanted to see if I could do this without needing a machine interface. I wanted to adhere to the values of the Federation and this ship, even if it meant brutalizing myself."

Chakotay closed his eyes. He couldn't believe he was even entertaining going along with her request. It was anathema to him to destroy the body for mere work, but it was even more repellant to modify the self with mechanical components. He pulled away and tried to be objective. People on the ship ruined themselves constantly, especially the captain. He couldn't hold this devoted ensign to a different, lesser standard, could he? Her arguments were too persuasive to be ignored, but his better nature roiled against seeing her blithely walking around looking like a stripped-down drone.

"Commander," she said, breaking his thoughts. "I want to approach the captain directly."

"Are you sure that is prudent, ensign? Her views on the Borg are far less nuanced than mine, her alliance with them against Species 8972 notwithstanding."

"With all due respect, sir," she said, and he could see she was trying not to make that an insult, "if my work is to be destroyed, I would prefer that she strike the killing blow. Not to be melodramatic," she added with an exhausted, wry grin.

"She's been helping you, has she not," he prodded. "She's mentioned that a few times. I think she'd much rather find another solution than shut it all down."

He saw that the ensign attempted to stifle a look of pleasure at the mention of the captain's involvement in her work. She succeeded and her face went blank again. "Commander, I have no doubt that she will propose several alternatives, but believe me when I say I've tried every single one. This is the last hope I have."

Chakotay emitted a resigned sigh. Once again, he felt like he'd been stepped over in favor of the captain. His active role with the crew notwithstanding, he was relegated to second place more often than not. The ensign, in spite of her personal preoccupation, picked this up.

"Commander, you have done so much for me. I wouldn't have the resources or flexibility I have now without your intervention. You and I both know that I probably wouldn't be alive." She let herself smile. "I trust that you would give your assent if you could, but neither one of us would be happy with the consequences if you did without her knowledge."

"Tuvok to Chakotay. We've set up the quarantine. You're needed in the transporter room."

The stood simultaneously and she turned to leave.

"Wait, ensign," he said, pausing her at the door. She met his dark eyes with her pale yellow ones. "This is the only warning I'm giving you. Somehow, until now, you've kept it together enough that no one has noticed. The minute you slip, you lose it all." She bowed her head, mumbled a "yes, commander", and went on her way.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Chakotay, Tuvok, and Janeway stood along the back wall of transporter room 2 and gazed expectantly at the empty space within the forcefield. They'd been assured by Engineering that the remaining adjustments to the bioscanners would not result in an accidental decontamination, so they had invited three members of the Erato delegation to come aboard the ship.

When the aliens shimmered into view, there was a moment of quiet contemplation by both groups. Consul Kant was flanked by two smaller Erato females. Unlike the Consul, they were both dark yellow, with red eyes that were surrounded with brown circles of pigment. Long chains of orange, with bangles of silver, emerged from the domes of their perfectly-smooth heads and dropped almost to their shoulders. Their garb of white robes was slightly less modest than those of the male next to them; it draped over their shoulders and ended at their waists, then started at their hips and reached the floor. A band of delicate yellow flesh was visible as they bowed their torsos forward, causing the bangles to jingle against each other in a pleasant chime.

"Captain Janeway, please allow me to present Head Scientist Orma Jelay and Legatus Vas Malai. We are honored to be allowed on your ship."

"We welcome you to Voyager," responded the captain, nodding slightly in return. "If you will allow it, our Doctor would like a moment to check you for the presence of the pathogen."

"That would seem unwise," stated Jelay, her skin mottling with green. "Perhaps he is not aware that our disorder can be exceptionally dangerous to outsiders.

The hologram materialized beside the trio in a flash, scanning the startled aliens too quickly for them to react.

"I assure you, Head Scientist," said the Doctor curtly, "that I am perfectly aware of the nature of this protein. However, as a hologram, it would be impossible for you to damage me unless you flung large quantities of it at the mobile emitter."

"That can be arranged," snarled the Legatus, drawing back her lips to reveal an even sharper array of teeth than her compatriot. She went from yellow to orange in a moment. A jostle at her side by the scientist caused her to relax her tension and recomport herself. "In our culture, we do not take insults to our scientists lightly, Doctor. I see now that you were attempting to make a joke."

"A very ill-timed one, Legatus," said Chakotay, recognizing that the Doctor's irascible interactions with everyone on the ship could spark an immediate international incident. "As a hologram, the Doctor does not always pick up on the social cues that one might expect. I apologize."

If the Doctor had wished to retort, he was silenced by a phaser-quality glare from the captain. He closed his tricorder with a snap and addressed the room. "They all have protein concentrations of approximately 20%, though I'd need to draw blood to be more sure."

"That is a bit low," said the Scientist, rubbing the palm of her hand with her thumb and gazing upward toward the apparatus on the ceiling. "Be sure to scan your equipment for any lingering traces. If your transporter, as you call it, retains some sort of molecular memory, it's possible that the next few patterns through could pick it up."

The Doctor cocked his balding head towards the guests and continued. "Otherwise, according to the records they sent us, they are in good health. If you need me, I'll be in Sickbay." He evaporated from the room, leaving the Consul blinking.

"Fascinating technology, captain. Are others of your crew holograms as well?"

"No," she stated, secretly glad that the Doctor was the only one. "He was activated when our Chief Medical Officer was killed early in our journey. He has gained some measure of sentience, but as you can see, still struggles in social situations."

"Oh, don't worry," agreed the Scientist. "I don't care much for politeness anyway, nor does the Legatus. It's why we assign the Males to do our talking. Women are all about business, yes? That's why you're the captain. And that's why we should get going."

Tuvok, Janeway, and Chakotay exchanged a series of arched eyebrows, then indicated to Ensign Powell that they were ready to begin the next step.

"In order to facilitate the discussions in a place of greater comfort, we've arranged for biological containment forcefields to be erected in a conference room. If you are prepared, we will initialize the transporter again." The aliens nodded and vanished at the captain's command.

"Conference Room to Captain Janeway," stated a cool Borg voice.

"Yes Seven."

"Three Erato have appeared here. They are behaving normally."

"Excellent. We'll be there in a few minutes."

The Erato had clustered towards the back of the conference room with the Head Scientist and Consul seated in high-backed black chairs next to a small cherry-wood table. During the installation of the forcefields, it had been decided that the regular furniture would provide too much of an impediment to effective blockage of particulate matter. The massive table had been dematerialized and reformed into smaller surfaces placed on either side of the visible blue glow of the containment unit. They interrupted their intense, private conversation when the rest of the senior staff entered.

"We apologize for the arrangement," said Janeway. "This was the best we could do to keep everyone safe."

The Legatus bristled, but a clicking hiss from the Consul settled her down. He nodded. "It is regrettable to be cordoned off in this way, but we nonetheless appreciate your hospitality and accommodations for our current limitation."

The Legatus waved a white-clad arm towards Seven, who had positioned herself near the door, a tall figure in glittering brown mesh. "However, guarding us with a Borg seems a little unnecessary. Do you believe we'd be stupid enough to charge a forcefield after being invited onto your ship? It's bad enough that you cage us with no door..."

"Be silent, Malai," snapped the Scientist, backhanding the military officer's arm without turning around. "You're an embarrassment. Another outburst and I will vaporize you in front of our guests." She let out a tortured sigh and her skin shifted through a rainbow of colors before turning yellow again. "I am to guess that this Borg is part of your crew and not a threat to assimilate us?"

"Correct," affirmed Seven. "Captain Janeway removed me from my collective. They have been acting to restore my humanity ever since."

"Mm, interesting," said the Scientist in a tone that suggested it was anything but. "So, captain, let's answer those questions you're dying to hear, yes?"

Chakotay was intrigued by the entire interaction. It was a rare instance in the Federation where a scientist could outrank either a military officer or a person in a position of command. However, Jelay seemed to be directing the entire interaction without the Consul or the Legatus appearing the least bit perturbed. He could imagine how miffed the captain would be if the Doctor or Seven attempted to take hold of negotiations in this way. And speaking of the Doctor, he would probably want to be in on these discussions.

"Would you permit the Doctor to listen in on these discussions? As our chief scientist, he stands to benefit you most should you require it."

"It is natural that a Doctor be involved in science, but are there no humanoids suited for the job?" The Scientist's expression was hard to read, though her skin took on a subtle orange hue. Chakotay recognized it as a far lighter version of the Legatus's anger flush, as apparently did Janeway.

"Some," the captain interjected. "We were a vessel of combat when we left our Federation. Our science crew is only a fraction of our personnel, though we value them and their advances greatly."

"Indeed," interjected Seven of Nine. "Astrometrics is one of the most expansive areas on the ship. I have contributed significantly to the overall functioning of the ship and crew."

That mollified the Scientist somewhat and she consented to the Doctor's presence. He materialized next to the captain and, for a change, said nothing.

"Where would you like to begin, Consul," asked the captain.

"As the Scientist said, I believe I should answer the questions you must have for us." It was a relief to have someone speaking who did not seem edgy or disconnected. His voice was evenly modulated, but the underlying tone was of congenial discussion. "You must wonder why we have asked for your help and, more importantly, what happened to destroy so many of our people on all our planets."

"You are correct, Consul," said Janeway. "We saw the depopulation on the outer colonies and the destruction around your planet. There are few conflicts that wreak that much havoc."

All three aliens were silent for a moment. The Consul tilted his head, allowing the tiny chains on it to drape across his carved features. He closed his eyes, turned pale green, and spoke in a dire, almost inaudible voice.

"It was an eruption of violence unlike we have ever seen. One moment, our skies were clear and our systems peaceful. The next, our skies were nearly blackened by an overwhelming alien force. There was no warning from our ships in the sector, nor from our monitoring relays, nor from our many trading partners. It was as if they had manifested from space itself."

"Were they known to you," asked Tuvok.

"No," replied the Legatus. She was unexpectedly collected. Her words bore no inflection except one of slight sadness. "We never learned their names, nor their planet of origin, nor their true purpose on our worlds. All we knew is that they struck fiercely and relentlessly, without mercy or explanation. On the first day of combat, they destroyed almost two million colonists across four worlds. The second day, twice as many. They would bomb cities from above, then send waves of marching soldiers into every house, methodically shooting all survivors with disruptors. We took to calling them Bakloth, a bird on our world known for consuming its prey whole."

Chakotay found that he was holding his breath through the impassive discussion of what sounded like an absolute bloodbath. It nearly rivaled the Cardassian aggression in scope, yet he knew that his war at home came after decades of tensions. For the terribleness of the Federation-Cardassian ward, it was not a sudden, brutal extermination.

"We had some capacity to resist, but as days turned into weeks, our ability to fight them dwindled. Our weapons stores were depleted, our ships were in pieces, and our population was decimated. Science and technology is the pride of our people, but we had been stretched to the very limit," the Consul continued calmly. "There came a point where we recognized that merely advancing our weaponry wasn't enough, especially with no ships to bomb their shipyards and a dwindling population with which to wield them."

"Guerrilla warfare and hit-and-run battles became our method of attacking," continued the Legatus. "They barely made a dent. We were constantly falling back. We couldn't risk involving our trading partners, especially since there was no guarantee that their involvement would be even remotely successful. There came a point, six months into the conflict, when we recognized that we would need a different tactic."

"They would win," explained the Consul, his tone turning both grim and proud. "But it would be a war of attrition." He slammed his palm on the table for emphasis. The other side of the room jumped. "Their numbers were many, but they could not be infinite. These were not the Borg," he said, gesturing to the quiet science officer, whose ice-blue eyes narrowed.

"Paradoxically, there were those who hoped that we would be assimilated. The Bakloth wanted us annihilated. At least the Borg would have preserved us, physically and culturally if not mentally," said the Scientist dryly.

"A logical choice," agreed Seven. "Your knowledge would have been added to the Collective's and woul-"

"Seven," warned the captain, who turned to the aliens and made a gracious gesture with her palm. "Please, continue."

The Scientist gave a slight raise of her shoulders. A fold of fabric caught on a bangle, sending it ringing in a disconcertingly pleasant tune.

The Legatus straightened proudly and pressed her hands together in front of her bare torso. "We decided that our last stand should be on our planets and that our weapon should be...terrible. An atrocity among our people, but one that we knew would be devastating against our foe."

"A biological agent," whispered Janeway. In the Federation, such weapons were despised except by the most violent and most desperate. Even the war-loving Klingons considered biogenic weapons to be a dishonorable, cowardly way of killing. But at the same time, Chakotay was painfully aware of the containers of biogenic weapons that the Maquis unleashed during their resistance.

The room fell silent and the Legatus turned towards the Scientist. Her color had not shifted during the explanation. In fact, she'd remained dispassionate and almost bored as the slaughter of her people was described. At this moment, her skin's pigment drained away to a sickly ashen white. She almost disappeared into her clothing before she spoke.

"All my life, captain, I had wielded science as a tool of art, healing, and advancement. Others had made their life designing conventional weapons; we knew they were necessary, if unfortunate. But when this plan came into being, there were those of my colleagues who killed themselves rather than transform their knowledge into something we would use against both our enemy and ourselves."

"Had you any idea of the nature of your enemy," stated Tuvok. Of course, he spoke with no emotion, but he was as disturbed by a lopsided war as anyone else in the room.

"Very little," said the Legatus, who had taken to pacing around the room. She seemed to hover, protectively, over the distressed scientist. "Most of their corpses disintegrated where they fell. The few we were able to obtain revealed bodies as terrible in death as they were in life. Four eyes, bulging and ropy muscles, a foul-smelling acid that covered the skin, and organs that exploded when prodded." 

Jelay took over. "But biologically, they resembled us just enough that we could create something that would not only kill them, but also make our worlds uninhabitable to them forever. With time, the agent could have been refined. But we no longer had time. We made the decision to release the agent on every planet, even though we knew the toll it would take. We hoped...we hoped it would kill fewer of us than it would of them."

She stopped and took a breath, closing her eyes and shaking her head. She betrayed no other emotion. The soldier who had been circling her stopped and put a hand on the chair, bending down and whispering something, which Jelay acknowledged. It was an odd moment for the Doctor to inject his opinion.

"You selected a protein that you knew would be required for functioning in both of your kinds, but presumably you produce more or require the protein less, indicating that you'd be more likely to survive. It is," he opened and closed his mouth several times, realizing he had backed himself into an absolute corner by nearly praising or condemning an act of desperation. "Very unfortunate you found yourself in this position. As a Doctor, I know on a small scale the pain of using your art for other...purposes."

Chakotay exhaled more strongly than he wanted to. It was a relatively smooth finish that the Doctor had managed. The Scientist across from them still seemed too distant to respond to the comment, which likely made it easier to deal with his gaffe.

"Yes, Doctor. The protein was known as R-4351, but most called it the Executioner. The scientists could synthesize in on worlds where there were still facilities standing," continued the Consul. He was a ignoring the pair of women beside him in a way that Janeway found completely disconcerting. If members of her crew were suffering in that way, she would at least acknowledge them if the situation allowed.

He, however, kept his attention on his hosts, sorrow etching his face. "We found a way to introduce it into bacteria, which we then set to multiply in the water. We sprayed it into the crops and we streaked the sky. We fed it to our children and we drank it ourselves. Every inch of those planets was saturated with the agent."

"It was devastatingly effective. On planets where the agent was released, the invader's troops died in such numbers that the dust from their corpses blanketed the ground," said the Legatus, her eyes still on the trembling Scientist. "But on the two colonies where there were no scientists left, the Bakloth redoubled their efforts. We lost contact with those planets twenty years ago, but have had no way of reaching them."

"The invasion destroyed everything we had, captain," said the Consul, folding his hands in front of his head and bowing it. "Our infrastructure was wiped out. We cannot manufacture ships capable of traveling at warp speed. Our colonies previously depended on us for supplies, so they have been left to fend for themselves. And, of course, this agent permeates us so that we cannot interact with other races. Yours is the first ship we have spoken to since we destroyed our people."

Janeway sat back, using every ounce of her command strength to hold back the horror and grief she felt for the aliens in front of her. At the times she had initiated the self-destruct sequence, she had comprehended the necessity of sacrificing her own people for the greater good and had put aside her own doubts. However, the terribleness of potentially killing her crew had sat with her for days afterward. She could barely grasp the enormity of sacrificing hundreds of millions of lives in order to save a fraction.

"Captain," said the Scientist finally. Her color had not returned, but her voice was clear once more. "I can only imagine what you are thinking now. It is what I think, every moment of every day. When I assumed the mantle of Chief Scientist, I assumed the guilt of every hand that had touched the creation of the Executioner. I cannot let myself put it behind me or to become acclimated. I must drink in the horror of mass murder with every breath. We killed as many of our own people as did the Bakloth."

"And while we desperately want your help, we understand if you cannot deal with those who commit genocide," finished the Consul. The three aliens bowed their heads and returned slowly, chains shifting in delicate waves, to sitting upright.

Janeway folded her hands in front of her and dipped her head. She closed her eyes and fought successfully to compress the grief and horror she had felt as she absorbed the recent history of the Erato. Several long seconds passed before she had achieved enough composure to respond.

"In our history," she said contemplatively, "there have been those people who have chosen death in the face of overwhelming adversity. For the Klingons, death is preferable to dishonor, even if the Klingon might otherwise survive the encounter. On ancient Earth, Japanese soldiers called kamikaze committed suicide by hurtling themselves into enemy warships. Even among the Federation, it is our policy to initiate self-destruct when the capture of our ship would lead to far worse consequences."

"But you are soldiers, captain," replied the Legatus. "How many of your races would consciously and directly kill their own children to defeat an enemy?"

"None, that I know of," admitted the captain, but her voice didn't lose its gentle inflection. "But few of our people been so set upon that there were no other options. In war, no one is unaffected. Every ship and soldier sent against an enemy means another resource is torn from the civilians at home. It is not unheard of for a won war to be so hard on the victor that it is meaningless."

"Before I was on Voyager," continued Chakotay, wary of the terrain on which he was about to tread, "I fought against an empire known as the Cardassians. Their brutal occupation of a world called Bajor and the enslavement of its people eventually led the Bajorians to rise up, but not without sacrificing much, including their own children. It was one of the reasons we were compelled to act against the Cardassians." Janeway cast a sidelong gaze at her first officer. His posture was rigid and his face stony. This was too familiar for him to be comfortable and Janeway reminded herself to talk to him afterward.

She resumed speaking. "We can't judge you from where we sit. We don't have the right. We may not be able to help you as you would like, but we will not turn you away because of an agonizing choice that was forced upon you."

The trio looked relieved. Both women tilted their chins towards the Consul, who took a long and quavering breath.

"It has been decades since we last saw our kin on the other colonies with whom we have retained contact. We would like to visit there and consult with their leaders, perhaps bring some small comforts from their homeworld."

"We can arrange for that, of course," said Janeway, nodding to Tuvok. "Prepare cargobay 1 to receive supplies from the surface. Implement the same quarantine protocols as elsewhere on the ship. Also, set up temporary quarters within the cargobay."

"Aye captain," he said, making a note on his padd.

"It may be a bit primitive, but we will try to make you as comfortable as possible," Janeway said with a smile. "The cargo bays have transporters in them that can be modified."

"Is there anything else," she said, sensing that such a simple request could have been easily conveyed by remote transmission.

"If it is possible, captain," said the Legatus, marking each of her words very slowly. "The two colonies that we could not reach have been dark to us for many years. We would like to see if any have survived, though we do not want to bring you close to any occupying force."

"Is that possible, Tuvok," queried the captain.

"Without knowing more about the capabilities of the attackers, I cannot advise it. However, we can configure a class 5 probe and launch it from the nearest safe colony as we begin our transit. Once we receive more information, I can direct a better course of action."

"Do it," said the captain with her most steely command nod. She sensed that everyone in the room, including herself, would appreciate a respite from the intensity of their conversation. As always, the Doctor found a way to complicate matters.

"If I may be so bold, Chief Scientist, are you also intending to use Voyager's resources to initialize a cure for your affliction?" His voice was politely, even obliviously curious, which is what saved him from further reprobation from his commanding officers.

"It is a step we cannot take," she said. Her coloration had come back to a pale yellow that washed her out next to her brilliantly hued companions. "It is likely that the threat of reinfection is what has deterred the Bakloth from returning."

"It is equally likely that they somehow retrieved a sample and have been working to find a counteracting agent," insisted the Doctor.

"We have considered that," she said wearily. "Our scientists have also attempted to find a way to reduce the lethality of the agent or increase its specificity. However, the taint of that work lingers; most scientists spend their time on noble, healing pursuits: enhancing crop growth or synthesizing new materials. No one dies of the infection; if you lived, you no longer suffer."

"But," interjected the Consul, "it takes its toll on our birth rates. By nature, our people have few offspring. We carefully time their births and the interval between siblings. It is possible for us to reproduce more quickly, but for a long-lived people, it makes no sense to clump several children together when they will all require extensive care for two or three decades."

For the first time in the entire negotiation, the Scientist and the Consul were at odds. She hissed at him and the two made a series of clicking sounds that baffled the universal translator. With a wave of her hand, she rolled her eyes and looked away. Janeway privately remarked that she'd seen something very similar during conversations between dignitaries...and between parents attempting to settle a dispute in front of their children.

"Captain," the Consul said, "although my colleague would prefer not to impose upon you, we would appreciate your assistance. We have already sent up all of our data and we could help you in fully interpreting it. Twenty-odd years of research-"

"Have already been processed. Don't worry," he reassured, though the tinge of superiority was bolstered by the surprise on the Scientist's face. "What I would like now are the most recent trials, as well as more knowledge of your precise biology and as much about the invaders' physiology as you can spare. In addition, I believe it is possible for us to have a quarantined space in which you can work, though I fear accommodations may be quite tight."

"Really," said the Scientist, suddenly animated. All trace of her disdain for the Doctor had slipped away at his invitation.

"Indeed. We have a functioning proteomics lab, which includes an extremely advanced bioneural computer and top-level quarantine procedures, as well as a trained scientist whose methods are quite," he made a show of fumbling for a word, "unusual and innovative. I am sure she would be excited to help you."

"That would be wonderful, Doctor. I will alert my colleagues on the surface to send me the data." Her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted in a way that made Janeway shift uncomfortably. "Would it be possible for me to bring some of my assistants with me? I assure you that we do not take up much space."

Janeway looked to Tuvok, who frowned. "My only concern is that further use of the transporter could introduce more of the infectious agent into the pattern buffer. We still do not know what the long-term effects are."

"Captain," reassured the Legatus. "We do have two shuttles capable of leaving the surface. We can bring up some supplies and personnel manually. If this means a way to bring an end to the Executioner, we will arrange for a launch."

"Very well," nodded the captain. "It will take us about a day to make all the preparations. In the meantime, we can have you brought food or supplies while you wait."

"Appreciated, captain," said the Consul, beaming from every inch of his brilliant green skin.

The room emptied of the Voyager staff, leaving the three aliens to contemplate the next steps on their journey.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

"You want me to put forcefields in how many locations" yelled B'Elanna Torres, slamming the hyperspanner in her left hand down onto the console with a disconcerting crack. Her compact frame trembled with barely-contained emotion and she had generated a glower so intimidating that all the nearby ensigns found something better to do on the other side of the warp coil.

Chakotay backed away from the fuming Engineering chief, his hands spread out in their most mollifying position. "B'Elanna, I realize this is a huge impos-"

"No, you don't. It took us nearly four hours and five crewmembers to make the adjustments just to transporter room 2. Now, you're telling me that I need to do the same to the cargo bay, as well as ensure that we can teleport the Erato safely in and out of five different locations on the ship." She waved one arm in the air and tensed her grip on the spanner, threatening to smash it into the abused terminal one more time. "Every location you add increases the risk of failure almost exponentially. Going through one forcefield without diffraction is hard enough. Transporting through two in a site-to-site transport without the benefit of the transporter pad will be almost impossible. I don't know if I have enough people to make all the modifications in the next 24 hours."

The commander gently took her hand and pried the tool out of it with practiced caution. "I appreciate all the extra effort that you're going to put into this project. We'll try to arrange shore leave as soon as possible."

Her expression was still fixed in a fearsome Klingon scowl, barely affected by his words. "And why the hell are we doing this? Aren't the Erato just full of some protein?"

"From what the Doctor tells me, their bodies manufacture the agent as they would any protein. They excrete it in their breath and sweat it off their bodies. We'd be in danger otherwise."

"Can't they just wander around the ship in some sort of biohazard suit?"

"If they decide to leave the cargobay, they can, but otherwise the suits are only good for limited forays. If they're working in proteomics, the hazmat suit will be too bulky."

She emitted a low and dangerous growl. "This is ridiculous. I wish that you and the captain wouldn't make such sweeping decisions without consulting me first."

"The captain has extreme faith in your abilities, B'Elanna, as do I. If we didn't, she wouldn't have offered the option to the Erato. You're one of the best engineers that either the captain or I have ever met. We trust you."

B'Elanna gritted her teeth and moved across the deck, agitated, until she regained some control. "Very well," she said, still aggressive, but no longer explosive. She tapped her comm. "Torres to Engineering staff. Assemble in cargo bay 1. We have a lot of work ahead of us." She threw a final dagger-like look at Chakotay before stalking away.

The commander next went to proteomics, expecting a similar level of annoyance from the busy scientist. The doors hissed open without boundary and he walked in, concerned. Ensign Irae was draped over the supercomputer, her eyes drifting closed before she shook herself up again. She stood as he entered the room, wavering in her stance as she gripped the counter.

"I assume you've heard our request, ensign. Will it be a problem to arrange the lab for several other users?"

"No, n-no, of course not, commander," she said, blearily propping up her scientific professionalism. "I welcome more scientists in this space. I can reactivate most of the outer consoles within a few hours."

The commander crossed the room and stared down the young scientist. "Ensign, how many consecutive hours have you worked?"

"48, commander," she admitted. "Well w-"

"No, it's not," he said, nearly losing his temper. "No one is at their best more than 36 hours into a shift, which is why we only do it during emergencies. So now, you're too exhausted to be useful because you've disobeyed protocol again."

He gestured to the lab around him. "You're not at the Daystrom. You're part of a crew, which means you obey our policies. They're not arbitrary. They're not there as a restraint against progress. They're in place to make sure that we can count on you in times of need. I've given you a lot of leeway with your work, but this is enough." For a moment, he understood B'Elanna's need to slam something down on a console.

"You are relieved of duty until 0700 hours. In the meantime, I will have Seven of Nine make the preparations for our guests. Given the circumstances, I will allow you to work twelve hours a day, but no more. After the Erato have left, you will be limited to the lab for no more than nine hours a day, at which point you will go off duty. You will take a day off every five. I will force the computer to cut power to the lab if you don't comply." His lips pressed into a firm line and he finally looked down.

The ensign was flustered and crouched against the bench, her yellow eyes wide with shock and anger. It was rare for him to discipline a crewmember so harshly, let alone at length, but he had reached the absolute limit of what he could accept. It was enough, already. Any argument she could have made collapsed in the face of his reprimand. She said nothing except, "Aye, commander," before excusing herself.

Commander Chakotay to Seven of Nine," he said, tapping his comm badge.

"Seven here."

"Please report to proteomics. I require your assistance in setting it up for the Erato."

A pause. He could almost hear the eyebrow crook over the empty comm. "Is Ensign Irae going to help?"

"She has been temporarily relieved of duty," he said, grimacing.

"Very well. I will be there shortly."

Chakotay looked around the pristine metal surfaces, at the sealed bioneural console, and at the blinking supercomputer that was busily folding proteins into thousands of configurations. He shook his head and left for the upper decks. He should have handled this days ago. Now, it might be too late to fix it before the captain found out.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Janeway curled a foot up under her body as she rested against the couch in her ready room, slowly sipping a mug of mild green tea. She would have chosen the coffee at almost any other time, but at the council of her advisor and friend Tuvok, she had elected for a drink with soothing rather than invigorating properties. The Vulcan sat nearby on one of the isolated cushions, drinking his own cup and waiting for their conversation to resume. She had called him in to check on the status of their preparations, but he had correctly judged that her true intentions were to talk out the distressing circumstances surrounding their guests.

"Are they lying to us, Tuvok," said Janeway, setting down the mug and resting her head against her right wrist. She watched the planet beneath them rotate and recalled their recent encounter with the Abraxians, whose lies had ensnared Voyager in assisting with potential genocide. Making another mistake of that sort would desperately question her fitness as captain.

"It is a strange time to ask this question, captain, as we have already made significant accommodations for their extended visit. Am I to assume that you're having doubts?"

The clouds on the planet spun and swirled as she contemplated her answer. "I'd like to believe that they are actually victims of a devastating war who made a terrible choice, but our history in the Delta Quadrant suggests that they have done something to deserve it."

"Do you know that they have or is this your gut instinct talking," he said, finishing his tea and putting it beside him.

Janeway knew his, and indeed all Vulcans' opinion on the human gut. She'd pored over the records they had sent and let Neelix give his version of their history, both of which told the same story. The Erato were a scientific people whose history, while studded with the usual planetary wars that define any civilization, had kept themselves out of interstellar conflict from the moment they had attained space flight. They were no more or less remarkable than any other race that would be part of the Federation, save their most recent, most desperate act. Yet how could she not take into consideration what they had done?

"I will admit that it is my gut, though in light of recent encounters, I may not be altogether irrational in my suspicions." She shifted uncomfortably on the couch and recalled all the situations in which even cautious trust had resulted in a catastrophic or violent outcome. That she'd been forced to intervene with the development of a pre-industrial society because of her own carelessness was proof of that. She missed the simple duplicity of the Federation. Some races were not to be trusted; others had shown their worth over decades. These unknowns were becoming tiring and frustrating. Never knowing who were your friends required a level of attentiveness and caution that was quite draining.

"It is not too late to cancel their request, captain. It will be more difficult, however, in a few hours when they come aboard. However." He paused, waiting for her to turn to him. "I suspect that your hesitation stems less from their potential duplicity and more from the enormity of their sacrifice."

She stood up, straightened her uniform, and paced around her desk, rubbing her neck thoughtfully. All the while, she felt his coal-black eyes piercing her discomfort. He was right, of course. The time for rejecting the Erato had been hours ago, long before they had gone through the trouble of reconfiguring forcefields on four decks. This was a philosophical debate masquerading as logistics.

"Could we have done it, Tuvok? Could anyone in the Federation have made the choice to kill so many of their people...civilians," she hesitated, letting her voice waver. "...children…for the chance at survival?"

He sat rigidly, tracking her movements with the barest turn of his head. His placid contemplation soothed her as much as it frustrated her at times.

"It is an extremely unlikely course of action for the Federation. Its principles do not allow for such loss of life in the civilian population except by direct armed combat by an enemy. Poisoning a populace to destroy an invader is anathema to its values, so the question is not logical.

Janeway shook her head, crossed the room, and leaned against the bulkhead heavily. "And what of you, Tuvok, or of me? What of the choices of individuals?"

He closed his eyes and steepled his hands in front of his forehead. She doubted this was the first time he'd thought about the question, but the answers were no more pleasant for him to speak aloud.

"I have considered this from my perspective as a Vulcan and as a father," he began. "It was the great Ambassador Spock who said that the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few or the one. From that perspective, it would be logical to pursue the course that saved the most people."

"But could you do it, Tuvok? Could you administer a toxin to your child in the hopes that some other child on another planet could live," she said, her tone bordering on beseeching. "Surely, it's a line that even you would find difficult."

"I admit that I would have grave doubts about doing so and would regret it if my children were to die," he said, not opening his eyes. "But if it were asked of me and if there were no other alternatives, I would comply. It would be illogical otherwise. In the grand scheme of Vulcan history, the lives of a single family are nothing compared to that of an entire race." She saw that he swallowed at the end of the sentence. It was unlikely as simple as he had made it, but his privilege as her confidant and friend that kept her from questioning him. His eyes opened up and he fixed on her disquieted face. "And you, captain?"

"I couldn't," she said, firmly shaking her head and circling the room. "I would find another way. I would arm the populace with sticks and rocks. Forcing civilians to give up their lives because their government is out of options is not something I am comfortable with."

"And yet, in your example, even if a single colony were able to fight off the invaders, the others would be overrun. You would have sacrificed the same number of people, albeit indirectly, which is something that humans are more comfortable doing."

She whirled around and gave him a patented glare of disapproval. He seemed unmoved as he continued. "There is an old human ethics puzzle. You and a large man are standing at a railroad station. A train with 17 passengers is traveling down a track. There is a switch in the rails that has become stuck. If the train reaches that stuck switch, everyone on the train will die. If you leap in front of the train, your force will be insufficient to stop it and you will all die. However, if you personally push the large stranger onto the switch, that person will die, but 17 others will live. More often than not, humans would choose to let the 17 people die rather than sacrifice the stranger."

Janeway sank into her chair and rubbed her temples. "Because humans are uncomfortable with personal responsibility for a death. We are able to rationalize sacrificing people whose faces we cannot see, but when they're in front of us, we can't do it." She closed her eyes and allowed a moment of doubt in front of her friend. "If we were in a situation where I would initiate the self-destruct sequence, I don't think I could if Naomi Wildman were on the bridge. Her being on the ship changes how I operate."

"You would do it, captain," he said. "When you took on this command, you accepted that there would be a time when you sent people you cared about to their deaths."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it, Tuvok," she said testily. The conversation was beginning to grate, which he picked up on.

"Nor would you be expected to. Not sacrificing needlessly is an admirable trait in a leader." The Vulcan stood up and brought his teacup over to the replicator, where it dematerialized at the touch of his hand. "I must return to our preparations, unless you have decided to rescind your offer."

"No, go ahead Tuvok," she said, getting up and approaching him right before he left. She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Thank you."

"Of course," he said with a nod, then exited to the bridge.

She sat uneasily and thumbed through the reports from the ship. Engineering was stretched to maximum, but they were likely to have at least the cargo bay secured for their guests' arrival. The tone of B'Elanna's report was such that Janeway could feel the annoyances seeping out her screen. Ops reported that the Erato shuttle had left the surface and was scheduled to rendezvous in the near future. A scan of the craft had revealed its disrepair, which included numerous cracks in the hull and substandard output in their equivalent of impulse engines. The helm was standing by to initiate docking procedures using tractor beams once the shuttle was in range. She remotely granted Paris' request to bring Voyager into tighter orbit to reduce the chance of the shuttle breaking apart before reaching them. The Doctor let her know that he was developing a counteragent that could be dispersed through the life support system to deactivate the protein. It would sterilize the ship but serve little purpose as a cure. And at the bottom of the screen, there was a two-line report from Seven of Nine informing her that proteomics was in an adequate state of readiness.

Seven of Nine? What had happened to the ensign? She paged the ensign several times, with no response. Her heart rate quickened in a rush of controlled concern. "Computer, locate Ensign Irae," she said.

"Ensign Irae is in her quarters."

Janeway boggled for a moment. "Is there any reason why?"

"Ensign Irae was relieved of duty by Commander Chakotay at 1537 hours."

A few moments later, Chakotay was in the ready room before the captain. His hands were locked behind him in a very good imitation of standing at attention, which was all but negated by the look of chagrin plastered across his face when she asked him just why he'd taken the ensign away from duty when Seven of Nine's skills were required elsewhere.

"Because she passed the threshold from merely being overtaxed to being useless, captain. She was nearly asleep at the computer when I visited the lab. In spite of your and my direct orders, she had worked six consecutive shifts. Again. I informed her at today's briefing that the next violation would have consequences. It's unfortunate that they came at a time when she was most needed."

Janeway took umbrage at his tone, then backed down, puzzled. She'd never confront him on matters of personnel or staffing, especially when he had good reason for his choices. If this were any other ensign, he wouldn't be in here.

"You're right, Chakotay," she said, ushering him into a seat. "I'm sorry to question your judgment. It's not appropriate." He relaxed into a chair, then bent forward, leaning his elbows on the table.

"Captain, is it wrong for me to assume that you feel a certain kinship with her? Half the time I'm giving her orders for rest and food, I could just substitute out her name for yours."

She smiled wryly at her first officer. "You'd be correct. I remember back when I was a science officer. There were times when being threatened with the brig was only barely effective at getting me to pay attention to myself. She's not much different."

"I'd disagree," he said, not returning her smile. "I'd be willing to bet that even at your most dedicated, you never pushed yourself to the point of failure. You had more sense."

Her smile vanished accordingly. "Has she been having problems?" Janeway recalled their meeting in the corridor that evening, where the ensign had been too tired to properly operate the equipment. It was endearing under the circumstances, primarily because Janeway had believed it was a temporary lapse in sleeping habits. If that weren't the case, well, the combination of exhaustion and science was almost always catastrophic.

Chakotay sagged back and rubbed his square jaw. A hint of stubble was beginning to push its way through and she was reminded that they were both almost 17 hours into their workdays.

"Not until recently. I'd have to remind her to take a holodeck break every few weeks, but nothing out of the ordinary. Then, about two months ago, she passed out in the mess hall. We determined that she'd taken an experimental stimulant and worked fourteen consecutive shifts. The Doctor relieved her of duty and confined her to quarters for a week. Since then, she's skirting the edge of acceptable, disregarding my advice and yours." He looked deeply troubled. "What worries me the most is that she doesn't seem to care if something goes wrong."

Janeway felt her pulse rising at the young woman's irresponsibility. "Is the ship in danger from her actions?"

Chakotay didn't look up. "I've checked the safety protocols that she personally installed. They engage automatically if there's any sort of contamination. The entire room seals off and is flooded with about sixteen types of radiation, vaporizing the contents." He gave a mirthless smile. "So no, the ship's not in danger, save the only bioneural expert, who is reduced to subatomic particles when she makes a mistake."

Janeway reflected on her anger and let it subside back into profound concern. In another crewman, she'd worry about suicidality or a disturbed mental state. As a scientist, though, Janeway knew the single-minded pursuit of achievement that could venture into recklessness. But even the most reckless scientists were not going incinerate themselves over an error. A phrase came back to the captain from her first briefing with the ensign. We require reliability, she had said. Reliability so precise that she'd be willing to die for it.

"Chakotay, where is the rest of proteomics?" Janeway spoke the suspicion she'd been carrying since the moment she had entered that strange biology space.

There were six duty stations in the outer section, but all of them lay dormant, with a only a trickle of power keeping them from being totally deactivated. Their adornment was a single, slightly beleaguered, potted plant. If not for the fastidiousness of the scientist, the entire outer chamber would be covered in dust from disuse. She knew that Starfleet occasionally left portions of a deck unassigned for projects that would inevitably come up during missions, but such a lavish waste of space would only be appropriate on a Galaxy-class starship. Voyager's trim design was that of a warship. Every bulkhead and console had a purpose, which is perhaps why the nearly cavernous emptiness of the lab felt subtly off to her whenever she walked through it. There was no way, it dawned on her, that the young ensign could have been the only person assigned to that room. A lump formed at the back of her throat and she felt an uncomfortable tingling in her stomach.

His expression turned quizzical, then relaxed to somber. He had apparently assumed that she knew what happened. Now, she did.

"They died during the Caretaker's transport of Voyager, didn't they," she said, answering her own question with a wave of sadness.

"There were five other scientists sent from the Daystrom to monitor the bioneural gel during Voyager's initial run. The damage reports suggest that the deck breeched around almost the entire lab. However, the wet lab apparently has more shielding and that was Mileena's primary station. She survived while..." He paused. "She's never spoken about it. This is all we can guess from the data."

Janeway closed her eyes and took in a deep, shuddering breath. Yes, that would make sense. She borrowed staff from other departments to take over the functions that should have been accomplished by five other scientists. She played loud music to mimic the chatter of scientific collaboration. She adapted her equipment to work in a compact space because she needed to reach it all herself. And she worked three shifts a day because no one else was there to take over. Kathryn felt a sympathetic pang of loneliness. This far from the Federation, she lacked the companionship of other captains with whom she could share her frustrations and worries. Confiding in Chakotay or Tuvok wasn't the same; neither had the lives of over one hundred crewmembers resting on his judgment. Both she and the ensign were both terribly isolated from anyone who truly understood them.

"Why wasn't she assigned a staff, even part-time," pressed Janeway. If her own isolation couldn't be alleviated, the least she could do was surround Mileena was people who cared.

"We tried," said Chakotay, wincing. "But proteomics is so specialized that there are only three crewmembers who could even begin to understand the underpinnings of the bioneural system besides B'Elanna and Lieutenant Carey. We couldn't spare knowledgeable engineers for just research."

"Mileena is certainly intelligent enough to train someone," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Don't tell me she rejected your candidates."

Chakotay didn't immediately respond. Instead, he shifted his bulky body in the small chair, acting like a boy who had been hauled unceremoniously into a principal's office. His jaw worked a little as he gathered up the next thread of conversation.

Janeway rarely saw her first officer uncomfortable. He could be unusually stiff when attempting to navigate protocol, but he balanced that out with grace during negotiations and an adeptness with the human condition that she wished she could emulate. The crew, Voyager and Maquis alike, had taken to him remarkably, enough that the ship had not devolved into petty drama and squabbles in these tight quarter. Even if they had, she wagered, he was skilled enough to screen out the day-to-day ridiculousness and approach her only when it truly mattered. For him to be like this implied a certain, what, embarrassment? Discontent?

"Captain, you have to understand," he broke off, then tried again. "It was," he sighed. "Dammit."

Her eyes narrowed. "Chakotay, I sense that you're about to tell me something I'm not going to like. Rest assured, I am going to like it even less now than I would have then."

"No one even knew she was alive for the first few days," he exhaled. "The Daystrom personnel weren't part of the official duty roster, so we assumed everyone had been blown out the bulkhead. But when we tried assigning quarters, Crewman Henley told us there was already someone else living with her. Mileena had survived, gotten treatment from the Doctor, and had been slowly rebuilding the lab by submitting requests directly to engineering."

"And no one looked at the signatures because in the first few weeks, there wasn't a strong chain of command, the Caretaker was beaming us on and off the ship, and Voyager was being patched together with chewing gum and popsicle sticks," fumed Janeway.

"To be fair, captain," he said, vainly trying to cool her anger, "she didn't do anything wrong. We had to rebuild the entire bulkhead on the port side of decks three through six. The structural modifications she requested were minor in light of that. She wasn't part of Starfleet or the Maquis, so most of our orders technically didn't apply to her."

"Which is a mindset she perpetuates. Chakotay," she said sternly. "I am about twenty seconds away from completely removing the ensign from duty unless you explain why you've been allowing her to run her own private lab in the middle of _my_ ship." She emphasized the possessive, her blue-grey eyes flashing in annoyance.

"We ignored her, captain," he said finally. "By the time we realized we still had a proteomics lab, we'd already distributed duties to the entire crew. We didn't have a sense of how many personnel we'd need per department and you were very clear that the priority of Voyager was survival, not research. So every time she asked for assistants, I told her no. When she asked for materials, I told her no." He dropped his head. "At some point, she stopped asking."

Janeway slouched back in her chair and rubbed her pale neck. A knot had begun forming during Tuvok's conversation and was now a solid lump that throbbed with every sentence. Her anger at the ensign drained away once again. This was so much more complicated than an insubordinate scientist disregarding protocol for her own pleasure. This was a deeper sort of disobedience, the kind that is bred from neglect and desperation. "So we isolated her, denied her resources, and now we wonder why she acts like she's not part of the crew." She sighed. "Well, Chakotay, we made this monster. Now we're going to have to slay it."

"I think that's a little extreme, captain. Wouldn't you agree?" A spark of levity kindled in Chakotay's eyes. "Especially with the Erato coming on board."

She snorted. "It would be convenient, but I think we should try something less final. I'll speak with her once she's back on duty. In the meantime, query her usual helpers. See if any of them want to spend more time in proteomics. Let's enable some useful behavior for a change."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Mileena felt another flood of embarrassment wash over her as she approached her lab. The walk back to her quarters last night had been the most debasing experience she'd had on Voyager. Being relieved from duty mid-mission was awful enough, but having the commander, her closest superior officer, walk in on her while she was napping at her console was beyond humiliating. She'd had no time to rationalize or to explain. He merely threw her out and let her slink back to her quarters, temporarily grateful that most of the ship was too hard at work to notice that she'd been pushed away. Her indignation had only lasted the few minutes it took to eat and dress for bed. She'd fallen asleep in seconds and struggled to wake up at the beginning of alpha shift.

Now, in front of proteomics, the shame crept back into her rich brown skin. The bulkhead doors were held open by two metal clamps. Within, Seven of Nine bustled industriously about the outer segment, scanning the racks of machinery with a tricorder, while Ensign Charnock waved a microspanner over the forcefield generators. His drooping posture and grey-bagged eyes suggested that he'd not had much of a break since agonizingly preparing the transporter room so many hours ago. No one, she realized, on the alpha shift had stopped working except for her, because she was pigheaded. It was her fault he was here. Her weakness and her stupidity. She took a step forward and attempted to de-initialize the outer containment field.

"That will not be necessary, ensign," informed Seven of Nine. "The generators are currently offline while we complete the readjustments of your lab to the Erato's standards."

"Oh," replied Mileena, and walked forward in bewilderment. The disused consoles were all reactivated, though some had acquired a layer of extra equipment that she didn't recognize. Burnished metal spheres and sharp-pointed instruments that appeared to be made from carbon nanotubules jutted from the surface of a squat device that glowed an angry red. Another pale green flask was hooked up to something she guessed was a condenser/purifier, if only because of the sputtering of collecting fluid that it emitted every few moments. The floor was now covered with cables that had been affixed roughly to the floor with the same metal clamps securing the doors in place.

She approached the left side of the room cautiously, trying not to accidentally collide with the new tower of metal and tubing that had been installed. Neither Seven of Nine nor Charnock acknowledged her as she eased herself by them and sat at the console closest to the wet lab, her secondary duty station when she was still part of the Daystrom unit. Its evenly spaced orange and yellow symbols glowed familiarly and she reached towards it, then pulled her hand away.

"Seven, what does this console do now," she queried.

"We altered the bioneural monitoring system so it was integrated with both your protein synthesizer and the Erato's supply of molecular components. It took very little time to repurpose it." The buxom blond never looked up from her tricorder and Mileena was possessed with the distinct sensation of being completely superfluous to her colleagues' performance.

Mileena took two steps away and sat in front of the super computer. She could feel the crimson rising in her cheeks again as she tried to read the output of its monitor and didn't recognize a thing. Of course, sixteen hours into its experimental processing, it had moved far beyond the last set of data she had interpreted before being thrown off of duty. She peered closer, then backed up and shook her head. It was useless to try to catch up with the machine in a few minutes, not while she still needed to determine how the lab was going to work with the Erato and whether she'd even be required for its functioning. Maybe they'd have Seven and some random engineer take over all of the daily experimentation and have her fiddle around with the secondary controls to keep them working within expected parameters, intermittently making adjustments to tweak things according to her superiors' expectations. That was, after all, her job when she showed up on Voyager. She was very well trained in doing exactly what others wanted.

Her wallowing was interrupted by the steady voice of the Borg. "I have completed the installation of the Erato's equipment. We will now test its integration with the existing components." Mileena's pale yellow eyes met Seven's glinting blue orbs...and then her eyes. "I require you to operate the bioneural consoles."

Okay, so she wasn't being completely replaced.

"Yes, of course," she replied, bouncing out of her seat, then sedately dragging the chair over and sitting down, hoping Seven hadn't noticed the burst of emotion. She uncapped the console and began the initiation sequence. Charnok came over to her and peered down.

"I saw the note you left. I repaired the protein assimilator. This time, it shouldn't break down," he said, patting her on the shoulder.

"Thank you Ed," she murmured. "I'm sorry for being stupid and forcing you to overwork. A few rations, on me, next time we're at Sandrine's?"

She didn't need to see his face to know that he was smiling. "Oh, it'll take more than just a few. I'd say that you owe me dinner for two weeks for being in here, manually readjusting every emitter. You're lucky it was Seven supervising me instead of Lieutenant Torres. Sure, she's not much for conversation, but the Lieutenant is ready to strangle the entire crew bare-handed because-"

"Your discussion of the relative merits of myself and Lieutenant Torres is irrelevant to the continuation of this task," interrupted Seven coolly. "Return to your calibrations. Or would you prefer me to threaten you with physical harm, as prefers your superior officer?" Her tone had shifted to one that was almost mirth. The engineer drew away hastily.

"That's won't be necessary, Seven. I'll be over here." He scuttled towards the door, crouched to the floor, and began doing something that Mileena couldn't see with his tools.

The console gave a faint chime to let her know that it was ready to begin the interface. She paused and let her mind whir. It would be more efficient to jack in directly, but the commander was already furious with her. She looked down at her arms, which no longer required bandages but were still a few hours away from being healed by the dermal regenerator.

She felt the Borg regarding her. "Is there a problem, ensign?"

"It would be preferable for me to use the direct neural connection. However, the commander is already upset at me for my indiscretions and would disapprove."

"It would be unwise to anger him further," concurred the Borg. "Your actions have been extremely detrimental to the function of this ship."

Mileena's face bloomed crimson from a combination of irritation and humiliation. Was there no one in a position of power who wouldn't remind her that she'd screwed up today? She didn't respond, mustering over a decade's worth of interacting with disapproving superiors to quiet down her emotions. At her best, she could absorb a fair amount of verbal reprimands without so much as a flush.

"It is not surprising, however. This lab is designed for no fewer than four people. It is inefficient to have a single person working here. As your superior officer, I will ensure that more personnel are added."

It was only her conscious concentration on her professional veneer that let her process this information without profanity.

"My...superior officer," she croaked, pushing her fingers onto the hard metal casing of the bioneural interface. She worried that if she put any pressure on the gel in this state, she might rupture it with the force of her shock.

"Yes. You were not informed because you had been relieved of duty. Commander Chakotay and Captain Janeway decided that I was the most logical choice for overseeing your research. You will be reporting to me directly. However, this is not the optimal time to engage in scheduling."

"Does this mean I can ask you for permission to use the direct interface?"

"You may." Seven paused expectantly, then realization crossed her ivory skin. "That statement was designed to ask me two questions," she replied with consternation.

She recovered and said primly, "It has been twenty hours, thirty seven minutes, and twelve seconds since your last use of the dermal regenerator. You will be unable to heal the damage acquired due to the bioneural console for another six hours, twenty two minutes, and forty eight seconds." She gave the ensign a hard stare, perhaps borrowed from the captain. "You may ask permission, but it is denied."

Mileena assented with a sigh. This was her life, now. Following orders, respecting her body, working with the crew and not apart from it. How strange that she'd gone from a blip of sensor data to a focus of study in just a few weeks. Wasn't this what she wanted? She shook her head. Not the time to worry.

Mileena initiated the connection with all the foreign equipment, then split her time between the two bioneural consoles. One by one, the new devices came online and were scanned, then cross-checked with the data that had been sent from their guests. The specifications were brilliantly clear and organized in such a way that even a reader with the barest knowledge could grasp their purpose within a few lines. She envied their skill, though allowed herself to foist off a bit of their talent on their society's emphasis on scientific progress. Still, their technology was several decades behind that of the Daystrom and almost a century behind the Trill, with the strange absence of replicator technology that plagued the entire Delta Quadrant. The various pieces of equipment would be helpful, but only because Voyager couldn't quickly synthesize the Federation's superior components. She watched the data whir by and caught up as best she could on what she had slept through.

"You have not completed the task," stated Seven, breaking her concentration. "You should have finished the integration three minutes ago."

"I'm running a final check on contamination by elements of subspace. It should be finished within a half hour," she said, brushing off the complaint.

"It is unlikely that the Erato have technology that the Federation has barely touched beyond communications. Terminate your scan. It is irrelevant."

Mileena turned slowly towards the Borg, who was holding a padd and frowning back at the young woman. She rose and took two steps closer. Seven tilted her chin down so she could look Mileena in the eyes. The ensign drew herself up to her full five foot eight frame and stiffened her posture into reinforced deuterium.

"I accept that you are now my superior officer and will direct my actions and research. I will not, however, compromise matters of safety. This lab lives and dies by its protocols. Every piece of equipment, even a tricorder, which connects directly with the bioneural console could contaminate it...and me by extension. If you cannot accept that, relieve me of duty. I will not kill myself through sloppiness."

The Borg didn't blink but Mileena had stopped doubting her own position. Safety, almost to the point of zealousness, was something that she believed in ever since the lab had come apart around her all those years ago. There was no room for error, especially not errors that were completely preventable.

They breathed in unison and the Borg returned to her padd and tapped something briefly. "Very well." She paused. "I feel it is necessary to reprimand you for insubordination, however." She looked up and cocked her head. "Consider yourself reprimanded."

"Thank you, Seven." Mileena sat back down and allowed herself a long exhale. She focused on her work and mentally admitted that yes, the scan was unnecessary. She was trying to buy time, though for what she couldn't quite tell.

"Ensign Irae, Seven of Nine," called Ensign Charnok from the door. "I've finished the forcefield emitter calibrations. You may want to run through a few test sequences."

"Very well." Seven of Nine exited the lab and placed her hand over the keypad. She waited a moment and took a step back in. "Are you going to join us?"

"I will execute the sequences from in here. It'll be faster with the computer. Ed, send me the specifications," she said, not waiting for the Borg to interrupt. One of the computer's screens lit up with the locations of all the emitters. He'd added about twenty along the floors and ceilings, but that had required moving the existing emitters out of place to allow what he considered better coverage. Well, they had different views of better.

She left the lab carrying a remote transponder with a dedicated connection to the supercomputer. "Computer, begin lab failsafe test program alpha one, voice authorization Irae seven two six rho. Deauthorize on my command," she said quietly.

A small holoprojection of a humanoid form appeared sitting in the chair beside the bioneural console. It was bisected neatly through the torso by simulated, bright-red forcefield jutting out of the wall. Mileena shook her head. Too low down. It wouldn't be sufficient to terminate the connection if something were going wrong.

"Adjust emitter 50 centimeters upward and .5 degrees starboard." The beam rose until it was barely passing through the hologram's chin and touching the base of its skull. "Trigger lab failsafe and report," she breathed.

The simulated forcefield glowed a livid crimson as the head of the hologram evaporated with a somewhat superfluous sizzle. "Lab failsafe triggered," stated the computer blandly. "Termination successful."

"Well then," said Mileena with morbid cheeriness. "The forcefield emitters that decapitate me if I'm infested by bioneural parasites are in place. Now, all we need to do is have the emitters run through every possible configuration so we can see if we're missing coverage. That'll take about two hours, maybe?" She paused with faux dramaticism, then continued. "Anyone want breakfast?"

She tapped the forcefield test program into the supercomputer's remote transmitter and the lab began to flash festively with simulated forcefields. Ensign Charnok disengaged the brackets on the doors, letting them slide shut with mechanical relief, then excused himself to get some much-needed sleep. Mileena turned to the Borg, who replied that she did not require nutrition at this time. Shrugging, she walked to the mess hall and waited for the lab to finish its testing.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Mileena returned to the lab and alerted Seven that the forcefields had been properly aligned for use. The Borg came up several minutes later to inspect the configuration in the outer lab. A row of newly placed emitters along the ceiling and floor gleamed pleasantly in the dim light of the additional machinery. Seven walked through them carefully, noting that she needed to sidle slowly from the hallway to the wet lab, lest she run into the forcefields and end up with a nasty burn.

"Adequate, but cramped."

"Yes, well, I don't plan on coming in and out very often," admitted Mileena. "I can remain here for as long as they do."

"Most humans find that prolonged time without water, food, or relief of bodily requirements is quite unpleasant, and from what I understand, the Erato require such things far less often than humans."

"Well, yes. I do have rations stored in an upper compartment and a receptacle should the need arise," said Mileena, delicately skirting around the more impolite functions to which the Borg was referring. "But when I'm using the direct interface, I have a final option that allows a reciprocal processing of nutrients and waste products by the bioneural console."

"A dialyzer," replied the Borg with a crooked eyebrow. "You use your bioneural console much like the Borg use their alcoves. It's rare to see."

Mileena scrunched her eyes shut in consternation at the comparison. She didn't want to admit how closely she had mirrored the Borg's logical improvements when she built her interface. She didn't want to go much farther, but yes, it would be so much more convenient to process energy from the ship instead of this tiring business of ingesting and excreting. Then again, eating was pleasant and she hardly wanted to be tethered to a machine at all times. If she were trapped on a planet with nothing but leola root, she'd be able to survive, though a few days of the bitter herb would make her wish otherwise. Conversely, the Borg would quickly fail without her specialized equipment. At that thought, she regretted her humanity and her Trill-ness a bit less.

"Yes, well, it's only a stopgap, and I need to join fully with the machine. Do I have your permission, Seven?"

The Borg eyed her carefully. "It would be beneficial for their research if you had direct access to the bioneural circuitry. However, you risk doing continued damage to your body, which is inefficient. Will you obtain similar benefit if you have only a partial junction?"

Mileena blinked thoughtfully. "I've never tried it, but I think it will work, albeit with less speed."

"You will not do both arms, even if you are not obtaining optimal levels of processing, until I am certain the dermal regenerator can restore you. It is my duty as your commanding officer to keep you functional."

"Yes, ma'am," said Mileena with fake courtesy.

Seven either didn't notice the tone of the young woman's voice or she elected to ignore it. "I will inform the Erato that it is time for them to transfer to the lab. Once they are here, you may engage the interface."

Mileena stood at attention next to her console as Seven said, "Transporter room two. We are prepared to receive the scientists."

"Acknowledged," croaked Lauren in a voice Mileena recognized as far too many hours working her own set of equipment. A sharp twinge of guilt stung the ensign. She should have been working. She should have cared more.

She pushed the self-doubt aside as the Erato shimmered into place. Four blue-black scientists stood at attention within the lab, their bodies inclining in turn to the half-Trill and the Borg standing on either side of the forcefields.

"You are Mileena Irae," said the tall woman, bowing her yellow-tinged head in concert with those of her subordinates. "I am Orma Jelay, Head Scientist of the Erato. I thank you graciously for your invitation to your laboratory. I recognize the inconvenience this must be for you and I hope that our work here is quite fruitful."

"I am honored, Head Scientist, that you would come to this space. I realize that it is a pale imitation of your facilities on Erato Prime," said Mileena in turn. She was fascinated by the almost reptilian features of the woman in front of her, the wide eyes and smooth skin, as much as she was the research that had brought them all to this place. Mileena had taken her time during breakfast to assimilate as much of their data as she could and she now understood the tremendous effort that the Erato had undergone to synthesize their terrible weapon. She also had appreciated for the first time the enormity of the task before them. They would be attempting to reverse a large-scale contamination that had infested the entirety of their planets and their people. But one thing at a time, she repeated to herself. One task at a time.

The junior scientists began bustling around the outer lab, checking the equipment and bringing them through their start-up sequences. The Head Scientist lingered at the far forcefield, eyeing the dark-haired, dark-skinned woman with curiosity.

"I have read about the biological-neural interface with interest. The improved processing speed and adaptability is impressive. I am anxious to see it in action."

Mileena looked to her superior officer, who gave a curt, blond-bunned nod. "You may proceed under our arrangement."

Mileena sat in the chair nearest to the bioneural console and, with a wince and a sigh, engaged a half-link with the computer. It made a series of annoyed beeps as it failed to locate her other arm. Sluggishly, it made the integration and, at her prompting, engaged the secondary fluid systems. She felt the blood drain slowly out of her vein and another rush of fluid as it entered once again. While others might find it sickening or grotesque, she found it almost soothing. The pulsing of the tubes reminded her of floating in the ocean, being lulled by the waves breaking against her body. With only one probe engaged, though, it was easier for her to keep her mind out of the sensations of the computer and more on her surroundings.

"I was not expecting a direct neuronal-bioneural connection," said the Head Scientist, her inflection rising. "Am I to assume it is of Borg origin," she said delicately.

"Incorrect," interjected Seven. "The Borg would not use such primitive equipment. It is a system of the ensign's design, required to take advantage of the bioneural console's affinity for living tissue. It is inefficient and requires refinement."

"Yes, what she said," mumbled Mileena. It wasn't a tear down, she reminded herself. It was just Seven being Seven.

"Well, for the work of a single scientist, it is quite impressive. I would like to speak more about it with you when we have the opportunity." The Head Scientist bowed once more. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to ensure that everything is working properly before we continue."

"Of course," said the Starfleet officers in unison.

"I've taken the liberty of designing twenty-six thousand protein derivative samples for your consideration," continued Mileena. "Once you determine which will interact well with Erato physiology, we can refine them further."

The Erato shifted to a brilliant green. "So many, already? Your machine is wonderful," she exclaimed. "We shall, in my lifetime, find a cure." She resumed a more sedate appearance. "One would hope."

"Indeed," said Mileena thoughtfully. And then, they turned their minds to doing just that.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Kathryn Janeway strode purposefully through the corridors of Deck Four. The Erato had been in proteomics since yesterday and she wanted to see their progress, as well to check on the overworked scientist who oversaw the lab. Strictly adhering to Chakotay's admonishment, the young woman had signed off duty precisely 15 hours after she had started, then reengaged a scant six hours later. The devotion to work would be a nontrivial part of the strong conversation the two of them would have later.

Kathryn had spent several disturbing hours the night before reading through the accounts of the Daystrom Institute's bioneural work. The small group of scientists had been hand-selected by Starfleet to participate in a joint venture between the Daystrom and the Federation's science division, apparently without her knowledge. They'd been given cursory rankings without any formal training to facilitate their integration into the crew. Ostensibly, they were just science personnel, but in reality, they had been an independently functioning lab whose presence on the ship was closer to that of observers rather than true crew members. This, of course, had been hidden in layers of bureaucratic nonsense that she'd ignored until right now. Laid out in clear terms, though, she recognized a few uncomfortable facts.

One, the ensign was not one of the crew. She was a civilian who had been given crewman status during the integration of the Maquis and the Federation ships at the start of their journey. So the young woman's actions were not entirely out of line; she had no concern for ship's protocol because she had never been trained in it. Two, the ensign had more autonomy than most other people on the ship. The equipment in the lab belonged to the Daystrom, not to the Federation, much in the same way that Neelix's ship was his alone and Seven's alcove was hers. It was being operated within Voyager by Mileena's will, a thought that perturbed Janeway greatly. Granted, it was her ship and by definition, she could appropriate everything within it at her whim. But she'd prefer not to. And finally, Mileena had lost her closest ally, Rigel Evanrartak, during their first foray into space.

Chakotay was right. The ship's logs were incredibly spotty around that section of the deck. There had been a full hull decompression, but the forcefields around proteomics had theoretically remained intact. The sensors had been damaged, yet the few bits of data that they recovered suggested that nothing had gone so wrong that it would kill five people. Janeway had mulled the possibility that Mileena had murdered them to put them out of some sort of misery or for her own survival during the explosion, yet the idea was distasteful. The ensign was self-destructive, not harmful to others. No, there was some sort of hidden cause that had left this young woman so very alone in this ship.

She'd spent a few hours in bed, trying to imagine what it would be like had she had her most precious advisers killed in a single swoop. Tuvok, Chakotay, even Tom and Harry. What if they all vanished in a terrible burst of fire? The thought chilled her deeply. She was strong and independent, but under those sorts of circumstances, she might throw what little self-control she had out the nearest airlock. She pitied the young woman and was overcome with the urge to somehow make her feel less isolated on this ship of essential strangers. The Maquis had other Maquis. The Starfleet officers had each other. But Mileena, as Janeway had come to mentally call her, had no one. As she drifted off to sleep last night, she entertained a dim fantasy of becoming the person Mileena would call for.

The bulkhead doors in proteomics were open, a preference conveyed by the Erato, who enjoyed working out in the open. Their culture was such that scientific work was done publically in sparkling arenas, just as sports or music might be performed in other cultures. They had made a few politely disparaging comments about how Voyager elected to hide its scientists in such a deep part of the ship. Her arguments about it being a warship were met with nods of assent that she guessed were forced for her benefit. The scientists, unlike the Legatus or the Consul, were far less gracious to anyone besides Seven and the Doctor. Something about scientific courtesy.

The sight through the glimmering forcefields stopped her cold. Four Erato had lined themselves against the outer ring and were engaged in a flurry of scientific activity. Lights were flashing and robotic arms were swinging to and fro. Their attitude was one of boundless energy and palpable joy; presumably there had been some sort of breakthrough. However, Janeway was transfixed by what she saw within the wet lab.

Mileena lay back in a thick metal chair, her eyes closed and her breathing long and slow, as if she were asleep. Her black hair was tossed in disarray across her face, which was drawn and pinched about the cheeks. A few beads of sweat had formed at the base of her pale-brown neck, though she made no move to wipe them away. Her right arm was crossed on her chest and the fingers twitched as if the ensign were dreaming. Most compelling, though, was the thick ropey tube, organic in appearance, that extended grotesquely from the bioneural console and fed into the young scientist's left arm. Her hand was anchored into the bioneural gel, which was a brilliant red-grey. A long silver probe impaled the young woman's arm, completing a scene that made Janeway physically ill.

Nearby, a few centimeters from the ensign's ear, the Head Scientist was whispering something in a deep, melodic voice that Janeway couldn't make out from her position across the room. Mileena's lips moved in response and Janeway saw her left hand wriggle. The supercomputer across from them flashed repeatedly and one of the subordinate scientists quickly adjusted the machinery on which she was working. It dawned on Janeway that somehow, the ensign had integrated herself biologically with the bioneural consoles. Janeway clenched her teeth and felt a mixture of queasiness and rage rip through her.

She tapped her comm. "Ensign Irae, report." There was no use in shouting across the lab or crossing through the forcefields if not necessary. The ensign needed to disengage immediately and explain herself on the way to the brig.

Instead of a response from the young woman, however, the Head Scientist gathered up her long robe, passed through the outer lab, and positioned herself at the door, bowing sincerely.

"Captain, I cannot thank you enough for the gift of your facilities. We have made such stunning progress, more than we have in the last decade. There is nothing like this supercomputer or this interface on our world. You are very lucky to have it." She shaded to orange as she peered through the translucent forcefield towards the tight-lipped captain. "Though your face suggests you were not aware of this technology."

"What is it," demanded Janeway, though she could infer most of it from the oozing contacts that mutilated the surface of her crewman's skin.

"She engages the bioneural console by controlling it with her mind. We had rudimentary versions of this technology, primarily for those who had been paralyzed, but we never extended it to our scientists. It is remarkably efficient."

"She needs to disconnect. Now." Janeway's voice dropped an octave into the dangerous vibrato that sent most of her crewmen skittering. However, the Head Scientist was decidedly unimpressed.

"Why, captain?" She said, without inflection. She had since removed her head adornment, so she contented herself by rustling the fabric of her ornately draped fabric as she gestured behind her. "She is working for our benefit at limited damage to herself. She obtained permission from the Borg, who finds the setup primitive but acceptable," said the scientist, mimicking Seven's phrasing.

"I do not accept this sort of equipment on my ship. If there is anything the Borg has taught us, it is that technology can destroy humanity as often as help it. We must make a strong and irrevocable division between using technology and letting it use us."

The Scientist shook her head. "Your vision is limited, captain, but it is your ship. I will comply." She looked back towards the reclining, blue-clad ensign. "She is currently deep in communication with the bioneural console. It will take her several minutes to wake. When she does so, I will send her to you."

Janeway stormed to her ready room and had half a mind to summon the entirety of Mileena's cadre to her office. Chakotay, Seven, even that slip of a transporter chief. How, how was this occurring without her knowledge? Her stomach lurched back and forth as she roiled. The sight of the young woman, placid and entwined with the machinery, brought back revolting memories of the Borg drones that had been stationed on her ship and of the Borg cube she had visited in the past. How could the ensign not see the terrible destructive path that she was walking?

The door chime sounded in the midst of her turbulent thoughts. She gathered herself mentally, folded her hands on her desk, and barked an entry command. To her consternation, the ensign's slight form was followed by the towering Borg who now acted as her superior officer.

Janeway assessed the young scientist. She didn't look tired, which was a refreshing change, though her skin usually bronze skin was olive toned where it stretched across her cheekbones. However, she did not waver or hesitate as she did when exhausted, nor did she seem as distant as she had in the lab. In spite of the grotesque intrusion on the ensign's body in proteomics, Ensign Irae seemed whole.

"Captain, you wished to see me," she delivered flatly. Her gaze was fixed towards the whirring stars outside, so she didn't have to witness the displeasure on her superior officer's face.

"Yes. Though I am puzzled as to why Seven of Nine is here as well."

The silver-clad Borg had adopted a similar ready stance, though her posture was far crisper and she stood a good ten centimeters over the smaller woman's head. Unlike the ensign, she inclined her head downward to lock her ice blue eyes with the captain's own stormy grey ones.

"Ensign Irae alerted me that you wished to discuss the bioneural interface with her. As her superior officer, I gave her permission to continue using it. Thus, I decided it would be prudent for me to accompany her."

"You allowed her to...connect," she said, trying to shape the correct words through her own revulsion, "herself to a computer?"

"Yes. The ensign had previously designed the interface and had been using it successfully before I was made aware of it. In light of the circumstances, I considered it the best option for succeeding in the Erato's quest, though I modified the protocol to inflict less tissue damage. After all," she said, crooking her ocular implant towards the glowering captain, "You encourage me to use my implants when it benefits the crew. I consider this no different."

"Your implants are a vital part of your anatomy, Seven," retorted Janeway. "An auxiliary, voluntary connection to a computer does not fall in the same category."

"I had considered this, but the ensign has made a convincing argument." Seven paused, then nodded towards the dark-haired woman beside her. "It would be appropriate, at this point, for you to make it to the captain. Perhaps she will find it equally convincing."

"Indeed," said the scientist, calmly. She turned her citrine-colored eyes down to meet the captain's. Janeway got the distinct impression that somehow, this interchange had been as carefully planned as others that the two of them had shared. The ensign had been waiting for a long time to stand here, justifying herself, and that steeled the captain's resolve even more. This argument would not be convincing because it would not happen at all.

"I don't want to hear it," snapped Janeway. "I want the whole assembly dismantled. Return the bioneural gel to its canister. Shut down the supercomputer. There is nothing that you can generate that warrants such a blatant disregard for my policies and those of the Federation."

The ensign did not cow, nor did her gaze leave Janeway's. "What policies are those, captain?"

Janeway narrowed her eyes. She could have ended the conversation right there, but she chose to engage. "That we must never lose ourselves into machinery. That our humanity, our individual existence, is above and beyond anything that we can gain from enslaving ourselves to electronic surrogates."

"Yet it is acceptable to heal injuries using mechanical replacements that often function better than their biological counterparts," the scientist replied.

Janeway dodged the accusation. "Such technology is elective, not mandatory, and only preferred if there are no other options available. If we set ourselves into the mindset that all imperfect or substandard features of humanity should be replaced with machinery, we will end up much like the Borg." She stood and paced behind her desk as the two impassive scientists watched her.

"Voluntary self-determination is a core tenet of the Federation, something that forced improvement through genetics or technology would violate," she continued, her voice proud and strong. "The Eugenics wars proved that if given the opportunity, a superior crafted race would logically impose their beliefs on all others. The Borg have the same mindset. After all, assimilation is for the good of both species, correct?"

Seven nodded in agreement, spurring Janeway's speech further.

"I will not have Voyager party to such thinking. The bioneural console was acceptable only as an adjunct to your functions. For you to turn it into an extension of your own body is another matter."

"I wish to disagree," said the ensign simply.

Janeway had to admire, once again, the absolute gall of the young woman. That twinge of doubt hit her once more. Any other ensign...hell, any other crewman on the ship who wanted to argue in the midst of a reprimand would be cooling their heels in the brig faster than they could apologize for the misstep. This young woman was the exception to almost every rule she had as a captain and Janeway still could not figure out why.

"I have spent almost twenty years defending myself against superior scientists, captain. I have stood in front of people who could do far worse things than merely destroy my work and end my career," continued the dark-haired woman. "I ask for the chance to do the same here. If my explanation is insufficient, I will do as you request and disassemble all of proteomics."

Captain Janeway stared into the pale amber eyes of the young scientist, though she realized the appellation was probably incorrect. There was still the chance, she acknowledged, that she could simply terminate this discussion and beam the entirety of proteomics into space. Part of her craved the argument, though. Only Tuvok and Seven could challenge her on this deeply intellectual level and she was looking forward to a battle of scientific and philosophical skill. Janeway allowed the scientist to proceed with a curt nod.

"At all times, Seven has the option of disregarding most of the benefits of her implants. She can consciously disable the nanomachines. She can ignore the input from her ocular implant. She can restrict the strength of her enhanced hand to that of an average human female. She does not, however, because that would be a waste of her talents and a detriment to her optimal performance. And her superior abilities have saved the ship on multiple occasions."

Janeway hid her discomfort. Shades of Janeway's previous discussions with Seven came back to her, especially given the nature of Seven's implants versus Seven's humanity. There was a certain amount of hypocrisy in how she had treated Seven's Borg nature, being alternately horrified by its existence and relying on it in a crisis. She disliked admitting that she gave Seven of Nine far more leeway than other crewmembers when it came to things like an unusual use of technology. It was coming back to haunt her now.

"The bioneural console is the same way. It can be used safely without any sort of direct input; you've experienced that much. However, by connecting myself directly, I can access a level of speed and complexity that would be otherwise impossible. I would require three people to accomplish what I can do just by engaging the circuits. Without the bioneural console, proteomics would cease to function. We would lose one of the most powerful computing devices in the Federation. Voyager, and her crew, would experience the same decrement in function as if Seven elected to limit herself to her human capabilities."

Janeway frowned with dismay, then rubbed the bridge of her nose. It wasn't anything she hadn't considered, of course, but it was so neatly laid out that she had trouble arguing against it meaningfully without reaching for extremes.

"What if, tomorrow, Tom Paris came to me and informed me that he wanted to replace his eyes with Seven's ocular implants? Would you have me allow him to do so because he would function better?"

The ensign continued to be unperturbed. "Captain, I am not being augmented or improved by the machine. The machine is being improved by _me_," she said, emphasizing the pronoun. "The Federation recognized that biological systems could accomplish more than conventional ones under certain circumstances. That's why the bioneural gel exists at all: to compensate for the limitations of the current technology."

"But they're proteins and cells, ensign, not entire organisms. Surely, the Federation could not mean to integrate living creatures into computers," protested the captain, gesturing to the room around them.

"Not the Federation technically, no, but the Daystrom," she replied, her eyes glowing with excitement quite unlikely for someone undergoing a formal reprimand. "We had run simulations and discovered that a complex neural system could better direct the bioneural gel than could a standard interface. Voyager was meant to be our baseline. Her next trip would have included a component modeled on the ganglionic connections of an insect. The notes of my predecessors suggest that what I have done is merely a logical extension of the Daystrom's goals."

"And the Federation allowed this," gaped the captain.

"They made the distinction, as did my advisers, that we were using biology to enhance machinery."

"A convenient trick of logic," replied Janeway, dryly.

The ensign tracked the captain's flurry of movement with a placid demeanor. "The distinction is not as fine as it seems on its surface. The bioneural console is, at its base, merely an elaborate way of talking to technology. I ask it to do things. It responds. It's just like typing on a padd, but a thousand times faster."

"Except that using a padd doesn't leave you with tissue damage." Janeway shook her head. "Regardless of the Federation's attitudes, I cannot allow a member of my crew to inflict this sort of injury on themselves in the name of science. There has to be another way to get this result."

The ensign took a tiny metal device out of one trouser pocket and placed it on the desk. "This removes the damage. It's a permanent port, one of many I would install on my arms and hands. They would be used as a stopgap until Seven and I find a way of completely circumventing the requirement for a more invasive means of communication."

Janeway narrowed her eyes, leading the ensign to raise her right hand in a gesture of appeasement. "Please, captain."

Janeway picked the port up thoughtfully and ran her fingers over the intricately woven inner surface, then over the cool metal ridges of the outer spool. It was a finely machined piece that wouldn't be out of place in an exhibit of modernist art. Unlike the Borg equipment imbedded in Seven, which was uncomfortably organic and harsh, this was an almost elegant interface designed to be pleasing to the eye as well as functional. She tried not to be swayed by its appearance.

"You would use this to turn yourself into a machine, ensign, and I cannot allow it. Regardless of the Federation's misguided stance or the Daystrom's ultimate goals, the fact remains that every step we take down this path leads us one step closer to the Borg."

"I love my humanity, captain," said the ensign, a note of passion seizing the scientist's voice. "And over time, I have tried to love my Trill heritage once more. I have no desire to discard them. I want to keep the joy of eating good food in the company of my best friends. I want the serenity of watching the moons rise over the waterfalls of my homeworld as the mist rises to envelope me. I want to relish the touch and cries of a lover as I submerge myself in her body, seeking her out until we are one singular note of bliss. I will not lose even a second of those experiences in the pursuit of technology."

The captain turned away to hide the flush that had suddenly spread across her face. She swore the room had suddenly risen in temperature by several degrees at the ensign's ardent persuasion. The imagery had been lush and inappropriately intimate, but captivating nonetheless. For a moment, she had found herself in the arms of the darker woman, overlooking a scene of exquisite splendor while drinking in the beauty of the one nestled beside her. A dull, longing ache pulsed in the pit of her stomach and it did not subside even as she returned to face her subordinates.

Ensign Irae's cheeks bore a matching tinge of red, which Janeway took to mean that she too had transgressed some mental boundary. Otherwise, the scientist was as impassive and controlled as when she had entered the ready room. Janeway tugged her uniform into place, handed the port back to the ensign, and sat down at her desk. The captain found herself in the uncomfortable position of making a decision that skirted the edge of her personal convictions regardless of what side she settled on.

"Your superiors allowed you and your lab to push the boundaries of Federation doctrine to their absolute limit, but they are no longer here to instruct you or override my preferences. You have gone far past what I find acceptable. However, until very recently, you had no other guide but your work at the Daystrom. I cannot fault you for doing so, no matter how much I wish you had not."

"Thank you, captain," said Ensign Irae. She swallowed, but did not let her gaze waver.

"I will not let that work go to waste. You have six months, ensign, to design a system that will serve as a non-invasive intermediary between yourself and the console, at which point you will discontinue use of the port regardless of the experiment's status. You and Seven will give me daily reports of your progress and if I disagree with what you've done, you will stop."

She gazed into the solemn faces of the scientists, who had wisely declined to argue with her orders.

"The Doctor will supervise the installation of the ports and monitor you for signs of damage. If you begin to reject them, he will remove the technology and you will not be allowed to try again; it's too dangerous." She paused. "How many hours do you think you can safely use the port?"

"Eighteen hours without supplementation," answered Ensign Irae quickly. "Thirty or more if I'm receiving some sort of external nutrition."

"Cap it at ten. You will not work more than 24 hours in a row unless there is an emergency. Seven, I leave you personally responsible for this since I know you will not alter the duty logs to conceal her activity. Shut down the power to the lab if you need to," she commanded, echoing Chakotay's earlier threat.

"Understood, captain."

"And ensign," cautioned the captain in that dangerous, low voice. "I know how you've danced around regulations and gotten away with half-obeying commands. No more. At the slightest hint of a violation, I will dismantle that lab so fast that you'll think it had been sold to the Ferengi. You are part of my ship. You will follow my rules."

She locked her gaze with the ensign, watching the emotion smolder behind those pale amber eyes. The half-Trill's posture was rigid and her hands were locked, but she made no sound to negotiate with the captain or to acknowledge that she had heard at all. The scientist recognized that she had been beaten and that her disregard for Voyager's policies would finally end.

"Do I make myself clear, Ensign Irae."

"Completely," she replied in a clear, clipped tone. Then, she relaxed and tilted her head downwards, her voice becoming softer. "I will not betray your trust, captain. I know it is not lightly given and I am honored that you would extend it to me."

The display of gratitude was welcome, if unexpected under the circumstances. She had expected some pushback and was glad it had not come. Still, Janeway had to clear up one final point.

"Tell me, ensign: How much of this had you argued in your head before you came in here," inquired Janeway lightly, though her intent was far from benign. She wanted to know just how well this argument had played into the ensign's expectations. Had the intense discussion been just a show, with the consequences well in line with what Janeway had been expected to administer?

"I knew this day would come, captain," the ensign said, once again staring out at the bulkhead, no longer meeting the captain's eyes. "I knew that if I presented anything less than the perfect defense, I would lose everything I had worked for. I did my research and I examined all available data. You would expect no less from me as a scientist."

"Your research was exceptional, ensign," said the captain ruefully. So she had been party to a prepared debate. "And did you mean that fervent embracing of your humanity, or was it also crafted to obtain my consent?"

The scientist's composure briefly shattered and she fixed Janeway with flashing eyes. Her voice was still steady, but she could not completely screen the hurt from it.

"My preparation did nothing to affect my sincerity, captain. It informed my argument and not my passions. Every word I believe to my very core. This was not some cheap ploy to play on your sympathies. This is who I am."

Janeway became uncomfortable once again. That was certainly not the response she'd hoped to elicit. It was gratifying to learn that the young woman was sincere, but in retrospect the question seemed somewhat unnecessary. After all, Janeway herself would never have walked into a negotiation without adequate preparation. The captain prided herself on logical thinking and careful consideration. Did she really expect that the scientist before her would throw herself onto the captain's mercy irrationally? Playing on the captain's emotions would be a far less effective tactic in this case...and the hint of betrayal in the young woman's tone suggested that the personal feelings she had revealed to Janeway had been deeply rooted and completely accidental. Janeway backed off.

"I appreciate that," said Janeway, then awkwardly steered the conversation back to science instead of intrapersonal relationships. "I will alert the Doctor that he should expect you. I'm sure he will be fascinated by the surgery that he will perform."

Ensign Irae, having comported herself, nodded slowly in agreement. "It will be a challenge for him, especially since it's never been done in a non-Borg. Perhaps Seven can provide some insight?"

"Possibly," replied the Borg, speaking again for the first time in several uneasy minutes. "Most of our implants are achieved by nanomachines. I will endeavor to probe their function more thoroughly to see the method by which they connect neural tissue to an external source."

"We can model it on the bioneural interface itself," mused Ensign Irae. "I can be the bioneural gel and we can pretend that the port is Voyager. Well, sort of." Her face acquired the distracted thinking expression that Janeway had seen on more than one scientist on far more than one occasion. The tension had dissipated, at least for the time being.

"Very well. Dismissed."

"Captain," said the scientist. "Would you like to participate in the surgery? It would be the first of its kind and you would be able to monitor its appropriateness."

"I will consider it," said Janeway, a bit of surprise in her voice. "It will depend somewhat on our schedule with the Erato. We should be reaching the first colony in the next three days and I may be busy with diplomatic responsibilities."

"I see," said the ensign. Janeway noticed how disappointed the woman was at the captain's uncertain response. It gave her pause and a completely inappropriate warmth. "Well, I'll let you know as soon as I do."

The two blue-clad scientists left the ready room and Janeway slouched back in her chair, letting out a few deep breaths. Then, she rose and ordered a hot tea with lemon from the replicator. Granted, a whiskey and soda would be more appropriate after that draining session, but being even slightly off kilter during this mission could have unfortunate effects. Her eyes drifted closed and she once again let herself be transported to an outcropping of rocks on a jungle world, her head on the lap of her lover, watching nature laid out before her. How long would it be until that was a reality once more?

She snapped back from her reverie and paged her second-in-command for the inevitable follow up to this discussion with the ensign.

The commander breezed into her ready room with a smile that evaporated when he saw her look. Unlike most of their interactions, he remained standing at attention in front of her desk instead of settling comfortably into the chair across from her. The two eyed each other carefully until Chakotay broke the silence.

"I take it you've seen the direct bioneural interface," he said, his voice as even and controlled as the ensign's had been. But this was no simple dressing down, no simple admonishment. This was a deeply broken trust.

"Why, Chakotay," she said, her eyes dim blue steel and her face drained of color. "Why would you keep this from me? Because you thought I wouldn't understand?"

She let her anger hold her voice steady, masking the hurt of his betrayal. "Because you knew I would object?"

"It was never my intention to hide it from you, Captain," he said, keeping the rigid protocol that never sat easily with the stocky Maquis officer. "It was just never the right time."

"What do you mean, never the right time? You don't think I would have sat down for fifteen minutes so you could explain why some ensign on deck four was violating everything I care about?" She kept her body supple, feigning relaxation, retaining control, masking and arranging.

"No, Kathryn, there is never time for me to sit down with you and discuss anything but the mission at hand and the operational needs of the ship as a whole. Would you have liked me to interrupt your morning briefings, your command during battle, or your few private moments with Tuvok? The twenty minutes a week you devote to leisure time?"

He let down the protocol and sighed, shifting his bulk forward to hold the chair in one large hand. Not defeated, for that was never his way. Accepting, perhaps, an outcome he did not want.

She breathed her anger out. "Chakotay. I trust you implicitly. It has been a hard fought battle on both our parts. I wished you trusted that I would have made time for you. And if I've given you…"

He cut her off in a way that conveyed his discomfort. "It's fine, Kathryn. I know I've broken your trust and I hope we can go forward and rebuild it."

She heard the unspoken commentary about his place. He was her second in command; the man to whom she would willingly give her ship and her crew. At the same time, he knew her bond with Tuvok would always surpass whatever relationship she and Chakotay shared. It was not merely her rejection of his romantic intentions but her ongoing, subtle actions to keep him out of her inner thoughts. It stung him. He accepted that battle would never be won, or even fought. Janeway's trust in Chakotay was the only thing he had from her. Now even that was broken.

Her anger gone, Janeway nodded. "Yes. All things. With time."

His demeanor shifted enough to break the somber mood; returning to the bridge in a scowling huff would ruin morale.

"You're really going to let Mileena do it, captain," he said with a fond sort of surprise. "She never thought you would."

"Her arguments are very persuasive, Chakotay," she said, resting her forehead on her hands, but she had managed a tiny smile herself. "Then again, you probably know that already."

"That is, for better or worse, why we are here."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Mileena collapsed onto her couch and covered her face with her hands. Nearby, Seven of Nine was primly perched on a small wooden chair that had been recently cleared of its assorted garb and padds. They had wanted a place to talk privately, but astrometrics was filled with scientists trying to triangulate probable locations of the Bakloth's territory by using whatever data were available from the war. Proteomics was also unavailable because of its new Erato staff. So the two scientists had retreated to the ensign's quarters, in spite of Seven's insistence that Cargo Bay 2 would be entirely sufficient for their needs.

"That went terribly," moaned the half-Trill through her palms. "Nothing at all like I imagined."

"I would disagree," observed the Borg. "You obtained what you required, which was permission to have the ports implanted. If our previous conversations are still accurate, we will have enough time to implement an adequate replacement that would fall in line with the captain's expectations."

"But she was angry, Seven," insisted the ensign, running one hand through her black curls until they frizzed out in six directions. "I expected her to be argumentative, but I didn't expect her to be angry and I didn't expect her to accuse me of lying. It came out all wrong. At least with Chakotay, I feel like I can keep my calm, but when I'm with the captain, it all falls apart."

Seven considered Mileena's statement. "The captain is exceptionally formidable. Commander Chakotay lacks her presence and strength. Perhaps that is why you are more comfortable with him."

Mileena stretched an arm across the back of the couch and twisted herself away from the Borg's placid, metal-accented face. She reflected back on a particularly unpleasant set of memories for her inspiration. "No, it's not that. Before I came onto Voyager, I lost my commission at the Daystrom," she paused and then said by way of explanation, "which is roughly equivalent to being stripped of rank on a Starship."

Seven nodded and Mileena continued. "I stood in front of an entire panel of formidable men and women. These were scientists who could have given Janeway a run for their money in the bulkhead-melting gaze department. They took everything away from me. After days of debate, they finally ruined my career in the space of a few sentences. Completely negated everything I'd done for six years. Did everything but rescind my doctorate." She swallowed hard and closed her eyes. "I never lost my temper. I never so much as frowned. I kept it in place the whole time."

She opened her eyes again, but kept them fixed at some point far outside window, not seeing the stars, but instead, the dark spaces between them. "Fifteen minutes with the captain and I'm fumbling for control."

Seven agreed. "Yes, that seems to be the case. I've noticed that she also seems to be..." The Borg looked for the colloquialism and found it with a sound of gratification. "Off center when she is with you. She is quicker to anger, but her vocal tones are those of concern rather than pure reprimand. I am quite familiar with them," said Seven, almost happily. "She uses them often with me. What's more, she seems to be in a state of physiological arousal when she is near you. That is likely the cause of her aberrant behavior."

Mileena nearly rolled off the couch as she emitted a strangled sound of questioning.

"Her pupils dilate whenever you walk in the room. Her breathing quickens, as does her heart rate. I have also noticed that she tends to stay in closer proximity to you than she does to others of your rank." Seven tilted her head.

"Seven," interjected Mileena. "I think this line of discussion is inappropriate. The captain probably wouldn't want us to engage in speculation about her physiological arousal."

"I have noticed that humans tend to be uncomfortable when I discuss biological signs of an emotional reaction."

"It's probably because most humanoids can't detect the same cues that you can. It gives you an unfair advantage."

"I am aware, but it is a more useful way of interacting. People can more easily lie with their words than with their bodies. Relying on body signs would add clarity to relationships." She tilted her head and watched Mileena smooth invisible wrinkles out of her uniform pants.

"However, I am not sure of the reason in this case. You make the captain uneasy because your thought patterns are so different from hers. Perhaps the captain believes you are a threat, though she is unlikely to be near someone who can probably overpower her in a physical altercation. You are almost five centimeters taller, though your Trill physiology puts you at a disadvantage because of its comparative frailty." She stopped again. "I am making you uncomfortable. I will refrain from continuing this conversation."

"Thank you," said Mileena, exhaling heavily. She steered the conversation back to more appropriate territory. "So we should discuss the optimal surgical procedures, correct? Then we can bring the Doctor into it and settle on a time course."

"I believe I will have sufficient data on the procedure within the next twelve hours. We can probably use a variant of the bioneural protein assimilator to generate a cellular bridge between the port connectors and all three major nerves in the arm. It will be a far more efficient connection than before, though it will take you some time to adjust." She focused her bright blue eyes on the ensign's pale yellow ones. "I am curious, ensign, as to why you have not been doing this research yourself. It is within your expertise."

"I have completed my research," she admitted. "I was just hoping that the Borg would have a better way of doing this. The techniques I've generated run a significant chance of leaving me paralyzed from the elbow down whenever I'm not connected to the machine. That's an outcome I'd like to avoid."

"Prudent," said Seven. "The Borg are superior in this area. However, I doubt that Captain Janeway would approve of my directly using Borg technology to work with your port. We will have to find a more conventional means of doing this."

Mileena pulled out her padd and called up a rotating array of schematics. "I've determined that the first course of action will require convincing the nerves to synapse on the wire ends. I can coat the ports with a variety of neurotropic growth factors before the surgery, then try to induce glial scaffolding with a constant electrical pulse through the port. In theory, that will cause the nerves to branch along the glia. But this runs the risk of the glia turning around and destroying the nerves because they confuse desired growth with aberrant connections. Suppressing the pruning mechanisms means heavy doses of steroids, which will leave me useless for weeks."

"It may be possible to place several small neurostimulators at the location of the motor and sensory roots for the nerves in your spinal cord," mused Seven. "They could send signals to a series of transceivers in every port to induce Hebbian learning at the newly-forming synapse." She paused. "It will be an unpleasant process. You will be experiencing repeated low-grade electric shocks over the course of several days to simulate normal simultaneous neuron firing. This assumes that your body does not reject the technology. You will probably be incapacitated for the duration of the treatment."

Mileena steepled her fingers in front of her face. "Not if we do several large bursts alternating with a few hours of lower-intensity shocks. We could probably speed the process up." She sighed. "We should pass this by the Doctor and then by the captain. She's not going to like my plan."

"Doubtful." Seven paused, then closed her eyes briefly. "According to my records, you have currently been active for over twelve hours. Given that some of the time was spent with the captain, I am willing to overlook it. However," said Seven sternly, "you are to go off duty immediately. You may resume work at six AM tomorrow."

"Seriously," said Mileena, balling up her hands, though more carefully with the left. "The Erato need me."

"I will make that decision, ensign," said the Borg, coldly. "They do not need you enough right now to disobey the captain's orders. In the event that they do, I shall alert you." She stood and walked to the door. "Enjoy your time off."

As the Borg left, Mileena tossed a pillow towards the now-shut door. Trapped by her own pig-headedness. Well, at least Seven and the captain hadn't terminated all the data connections in her room and they probably wouldn't check on her if she excused herself to the holodeck. There was still so much she could accomplish even in her off hours away from the lab.

A few minutes later, she was standing in the black and gold grid, debating her options carefully. Finally, she settled on a program. "Computer, initiate program 'Great Medical Minds of the Third Millennium'."

Obligingly, the room shifted to a gleaming operating theater crowded with white-clad doctors from every race in the Alpha and Beta quadrants. She looked across their mostly grey-speckled heads, picking out the three Trill whom she knew from her history books, and gave them a fond wave. It was oddly nice to see another Trill, even if they were simulated. The holograms did not acknowledge her friendly greeting. Instead, the lead, a Vulcan name T'prek, took a step forward on the pristine ceramic floor.

"State the nature of your medical emergency," she intoned. Mileena opened her mouth, then frowned. Yes, the combined medical knowledge of these hundred or so scientists could likely provide invaluable insight into her surgery. At the same time, hadn't she just promised the captain that she would respect her wishes? Didn't she say that she valued the captain's trust? This was surely a violation of it, in spirit if not in deed.

"Computer, cancel program." The entire array of brilliant scientists vanished and she stood in the empty holodeck once again. "Computer, initiate program Irae 5."

The computer rendered a pristine, cliff-lined beach around her waiting body. She tilted her head up at the wild blue sky and felt the pulsing great star of the Trill homeworld illuminating and heating her body. She inhaled the salt air that mingled with the scent of tropical flowers. A few white-capped waves lapped at the shore and she could resist no longer.

"Computer, lock door. Don't open it unless it's a red alert, okay? Otherwise, force people to page me."

"Acknowledged."

She heard the door whir its mechanical lock into place and, looking around for non-existent peeping toms, stripped off her uniform and undergarments in just a few quick motions.

Then, Mileena took two steps and dove into the inviting depths. The warm water stung the tiny vestiges of open cuts on her hands and irritated her eyes as she forced them open under the surface. She could have summoned a snorkel or breathing apparatus, but all she wanted was the delicious, total immersion that came with swimming alone and unencumbered. Beneath her, crabs skittered and fronds of algae waved enticingly. She reached down and ran her hands across the ocean floor, kicking up a fine mist of sand as she surfaced for air.

She swam for meters, keeping herself under water for as long as she could before running out of air and breaking the surface in a burst of sea spray. Her long black hair trailed behind her and her brown skin glistened a burnished copperin the sun. The water enveloped and caressed her. Gentle currents shifted across her breasts and ran through her fingers and around her legs. It was quite pleasant, she had to admit, then blushed. Goodness, had it been that long since she'd had a bit of release? She briefly considered relieving her tension right there among the familiar beauty of her homeworld. She reconsidered, admitting that such an action would inevitably cause catastrophic holodeck failure that dumped her indisposed body right into the captain's ready room.

Not that, Mileena said to herself with a grin, the captain might especially mind. Sure, she could interpret the captain's physiological arousal as annoyance or tension. In the absence of any corroborating evidence one way or the other, she preferred to imagine that the captain was hopelessly consumed with lust for her. Well, okay, at least somewhat interested in her. She doubted that lust was in the captain's vocabulary. And it was definitely getting ahead of herself to put any emotions on the exceptionally reserved superior officer. It was almost a violation, really, of their relationship.

Mileena sighed heavily and flipped onto her back, then closed her eyes. Only she could ruin a perfectly good sexual fantasy with logic and embarrassment. As the waves rocked her back and forth, she attempted to target her longing toward a less inappropriate subject. No matter how many of her lovers she conjured mentally, though, her thoughts and her body drifted back to the beautiful auburn-haired captain who had somehow insinuated herself into Mileena's mind. It no longer was a silly crush, no matter what Lauren said.

For the first time, she admitted the full truth aloud. "Oh god. I'm falling in love with the captain."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

The Legates's vivid yellow face was inscrutable as Janeway, Chakotay, and Tuvok met with her in transporter room two. She had insisted on a private, in-person meeting, but had chosen the location that would require the least amount of energy and inconvenience to her non-infected hosts. She sat, cross-legged on the glowing floor of the transporter pad, her long-fingered hands cupping each knee. Clad in a white draped robe and adorned with the head and ankle chains preferred by her people, she resembled an ancient swami prepared to dispense wisdom atop a mountain.

"Legatus," began Janeway. "What can we do for you?"

"Please, call me Se'tai. The formal title is a bit stifling when I am not in front of a few hundred recruits." She displayed a toothy grin, then continued.

"Thank you for meeting with me, captain, commander, Lieutenant," she said, bowing slightly at the waist. "I did not want to alarm the scientists and personnel we had brought with us. As the only military officer, I possess certain knowledge that they would prefer to leave untouched. I bring it to you in the hopes that you can help."

"We will try," said Janeway.

"Our people have been a prosperous, peaceful race for as long as our recorded history. In part, that is because military matters were kept private and distant from the average person. The citizens' police and the global regulators were entirely different castes, the latter being less prized than the former. It was considered shameful to intervene in another's conflict."

"That seems illogical," stated Tuvok. "There are hundreds of instances of great injustices being wrought as others stood nearby."

"It has served us well. We have cultivated that by being open, honest, and accommodating within ourselves and other races. Nonetheless, we do have a strong military that the general populace does not acknowledge."

"You 'do' have it," said Chakotay, his interest piqued. "Weren't your defenses destroyed?"

"They were. That was inevitable. To those of us with combat training, the overwhelming superiority of the Bakloth was visible within days. The upper echelons of the military suggested that fighting was the incorrect course of action and that full-scale evacuation would be the best course. The legislative and science divisions disagreed and we were beholden to their decisions."

"But I suspect that you did not go along with it?"

The Legatus turned a shade of fuchsia that Janeway had not encountered in her brief time with the Erato. "The first battles with the Bakloth were in space. Our warships were minimal and our armament far inferior to our invaders, but we had an initial advantage of fighter swarms that could outfly most of the Bakloth energy weapons. The warrior caste decided that the best way to defeat the Bakloth cruisers was to use their own ships against them by taking them from the inside."

"You used some of the fighters to punch through their shields, then boarded the ships. " surmised Chakotay.

Se'tai nodded. "We took seven ships that way, at which point we used three of them to try and repulse the invaders."

"What happened to the other four," queried the captain, leaning forward in curiosity.

The Legatus frowned and deepened in color. "We decided that they should retreat to an asteroid mining base we had just built several light years away. A group of scientists was dispatched from the surface, including our current Head Scientist's predecessor, in the hopes that we could dismantle and research the cruiser's technology. We destroyed most of the orbital defense system covering their escape."

Tuvok cocked an eyebrow and the senior staff exchanged a series of laden looks. "Where are they now?"

"They sent a series of positional coded messages once they were in range, then broke their communication off at our insistence. We have received various packets of data in the past several years that suggest they are still alive."

Janeway took a few steps closer and knelt in front of the forcefield that divided her from the Legatus. "Are you saying that there are people of your kind who are in possession of weapons that could defeat the Bakloth?"

"I believe so. The idea was for them to spread the technology to our shipyards, but they were destroyed too rapidly for this plan to take place. I have no doubt that our scientists have duplicated some of the weaponry in the last several years since our crushing defeat. It's unlikely that they have produced enough to fight off a second attack, however, which is why we do not speak of them. It would be unkind to give our populace hope for that sort of victory."

"What does the average person know about this force," asked Chakotay. He leaned his back against the transporter console, crossed his arms, and settled his face into a frown.

"Very little, by design. It was assumed that the military caste was decimated in the fighting and that the scientists had been dispatched to aid the colonies. There were rumors of the military fleeing combat, which we cultivated to displace notice from the truth. It lessened the respect for our caste, but the alternative was to inadvertently tip our hand to the invaders."

"Your people," said Janeway grimly, "are far too fond of sacrificing themselves for the good of each other."

"That is our way, captain," she said, her head tucked down and her chains vibrating with emotion. "For most of our history, it has served us well."

"What do you require of us," stated Tuvok.

"The asteroid base is within two light years of one of the lost colonies. I would ask for one of your shuttles so I could explore the base and determine who, if anyone, is still alive."

"Why not just bring Voyager," asked Janeway. "We will be in the area."

Se'tai seemed to be choosing her words carefully. "The asteroid belt is difficult to navigate and I suspect that the warriors mined the entrance once they docked there. I can get through if I modify the heat sensors on the shuttle, but I would prefer you not put your ship in danger." She lifted her head. "I also suspect that the lost colonies are occupied and that the asteroid is a dead end. In that case, I would also prefer that Voyager escaped unharmed while I paid the price for the costly mistake we made several years ago."

"I will consider it," stated Janeway flatly. "Is there anything else that you need to tell me?"

The Legatus resumed her normal coloring and rose in a haze of twinkling chimes. "Captain, we dislike being secretive. We hate what the war has turned us into. I can only hope that we can resume being ourselves once our scars have begun to heal."

"That is our hope as well," said Chakotay. "Do you wish to return to the cargo bay?"

"Yes, please," she said. A few moments later, she disappeared in a haze of blue particles. The transporter pad filled shortly thereafter with a green mist of protein that inactivated the Erato pathogen.

"Assessment," demanded Janeway, crossing her arms across her red uniform in a gesture of controlled impatience.

"It would be in line with what we know of the Erato," replied Tuvok. "They were unusually forthcoming with their military data, relative to most other races we have encountered." His voice was a combination of puzzled and pleased, relative to his normal emotionless state. "There is a record of the attempt to secure an enemy warship, as well as an exodus of several hundred of the scientific elite on a secret mission."

"Did no one question the outcome of the raid," inquired Chakotay. "Certainly the Maquis would be rallied if we knew a group of our soldiers had successfully secured enemy ships. Most would even have accepted letting some civilians go with the military for research and replication."

"The tension between the head scientist and Se'tai would suggest otherwise," mused Janeway, rubbing her neck. "The respect that the military and legislative branch holds for their scientists is not reciprocated."

"Indeed, from what Se'tai implied just now, it would seem that the military was a necessary evil rather than a celebrated element of the populace as it is in human and Klingon cultures," said the Vulcan. "Any action away from localized fighting would likely be ignored."

"Out of sight, out of mind," said Janeway, shaking her head. "I wonder if their decision to slight their military factored into their loss." She exited the transporter room and headed back to the bridge, her senior staff in tow.

"There's a crater on their planet the size of a country, captain," said Chakotay. "How many Galaxy-class starships would it take to do that sort of damage?" They rounded the corner and entered the turbolift.

"Too many," she answered as the turbolift whirred upwards at Tuvok's command. "I will say that this mission is becoming more complicated with each passing hour. We were first providing transport for a planet-bound race, but now we're trying to cure a plague and re-establish communications with a secret military base, all with the threat of their enemies returning to destroy what's left of their race."

"What about Se'tai's request for a shuttlecraft," asked Chakotay, taking a step forward as the lift stopped at their destination.

"I can't consider it until I have a better feel for their situation. We already may be providing help that ends with a firefight against a superior army or enabling them to launch a secret plan. Let's try not to waste any more resources than is absolutely necessary." She strode onto the bridge, noticing that her seat was occupied by a relaxing Harry Kim, who was having a pleasant exchange with ensign Baytart at the helm. Ensign Kim stood up suddenly when she walked in front of him, puffing out his chest and reassuming a command-appropriate demeanor. She narrowed her eyes at him, but before she could administer the appropriate chastisement on correct command attitude, Chakotay was beside the trembling ensign with a fond hand on his shoulder.

"Speaking of resources," said Chakotay with a half-smile. "I believe that you are at the end of yours. I can handle the rest of gamma shift along with Mr. Kim. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow, yes?"

Janeway blinked. The day had gone by so rapidly. There had been logistics discussions with the Erato about their timecourse on the existing colonies, a briefing with the doctor on the status of the cure and decontamination procedures, and yet another tense meeting in engineering attempting to placate Lieutenant Torres for all the trouble she'd been put through. Then, of course, there were the two hours spent dealing with a certain troublesome ensign in proteomics. Somehow, it was 0100 hours without her realizing it.

She gave Chakotay a look of pure consternation and moved to retreat, though not before volleying a few words at Harry about not using the bridge as a substitute for the officer's lounge. Back in the turbolift, she wondered if Mileena had actually followed her orders or if she had snuck back into proteomics to continue her work with the Erato's head scientist. And of course, if she did that, the ensign would have taken off her communicator, so Janeway should check the lab personally. That was the excuse she used, at least, when she found herself in front of the lab, keying in the release code on the door.

The Head Scientist looked up from a screen that Janeway couldn't see from the door. She glided calmly back to the forcefield and bowed her serpentine neck towards the captain, still as fresh looking as when she had come aboard. It made Janeway instantly conscious of the strands of hair sticking at right angles from her scalp and the tiny sweat stains at the creases of her uniform. Opposite her, the scientist's smooth head reflected the glow from the dimmed wet lab in the back of proteomics. Apparently, Mileena had gone at least to her quarters.

"Captain, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Her voice had taken on a soft, deferential quality. Perhaps the captain's unpleasant encounter with the young scientist had trickled down here, leaving them wary of upsetting Janeway further.

"I was checking to see if Ensign Irae had resumed working," she replied.

"She did not return after you reprimanded her," said the Head Scientist. "She sent her regrets several hours ago. Your Borg has checked in intermittently, but we have been otherwise working alone."

"I apologize for depriving you of an assistant," said Janeway tersely.

"You have already shown us generosity above our expectations. Even without Mileena, we have made more advances in the past 24 hours than in a month of experimentation. Besides," smiled the older woman patiently, "we would never stand in the way of the respect she has for you."

Janeway poorly suppressed a snort. "She spends most of her time dodging my orders and throwing herself into her research. I wouldn't call that respect."

The Erato tilted her yellow head back towards her cadre of busy underlings. "Remember that I too have subordinates who clamor for my attention. Sometimes, they will break my rules in the hopes that they will gain favor through hard work. It works less often than they might prefer, but they try nonetheless." She leaned forward again, her unlined forehead nearly touching the forcefield. "She wants you to notice her, captain. She has for years. She wants you..."

Her voice trailed off and she stepped away. "Forgive me, I have overstepped my bounds. I see her as I see one of my own scientists and, in our culture, our scientific and personal lives are inextricably linked."

Janeway let the crimson flush drain away from her face. It was probably prudent at this point to ignore the implications of most of the conversation, not unless she was about to go down an emotionally dubious path.

"I appreciate your concern, Jelay," said Janeway, trying to find a good way to break off their discussion. "I will check in with her in the morning."

"Of course, captain. Good night." The scientist returned to her work and the doors slid closed again.

Back in her quarters, Janeway donned her pale blue night shift and crawled into her bed. As had become her custom, she queued up one of Mileena's science logs. In spite of her moderately ulterior motives, she had learned a great deal about the bioneural console and the general function of the direct interface from the one hundred or so that she had sat through. Given that she was listening to them in reverse, Janeway hadn't gotten to the parts where Mileena first discovered that the best way to interact with her machinery was to jab it through her arms.

The captain let her eyes close during the discussion of how the ensign's first test run in the holodeck had gone, then woke up slightly and paused the replay. It might be time for her to start from the beginning.

"Computer, play the earliest known scientific log from Ensign Irae."

"The log has been damaged due to computer malfunction during recording."

Janeway took a deep breath. Her eyes sprang open. "When was this log recorded?"

"Stardate 48314.3." Janeway knew that date and that time. It was the moment that the Caretaker had stripped Voyager from the Alpha Quadrant in his misguided attempt to save the Ocampa. The day she had lost so many of her crew and been thrown into the unceasing journey that now defined their lives.

"Play it anyway," she commanded.

There was a short beep, followed by distortion from lost data. She could make out a muffled sound that could only be a red alert. Indistinct voices rose and fell in tones that suggested the panic of an inexperienced crew being thrown into their first life-threatening encounter. Machinery wailed in protest as it was abused with frantic fingers. There was the thudding of equipment, followed by the crackle of sparks blowing out of a console. Then, the awful sound of metal ripping apart from metal and a klaxon that signaled the failure of the structural integrity field. And finally, a terrified, agonized scream that could only be Mileena watching everyone around her die. There was a distant clicking and the sound of frantic breathing, then the recording went silent.

"End of log," stated the computer flatly.

Janeway sat up and drew her knees close to her chest. A chill had overtaken her and she was almost shivering in the suddenly cold room. She fumbled for a robe she'd tossed haphazardly on the other side of the bed, then drew it around her shoulders. Perhaps this was the wrong thing to listen to before she tried to sleep, but she couldn't ignore it anymore. The events of all those years ago had shaped the woman that Janeway was beginning to, she finally admitted, care for. She had to know.

"Computer, play the next entry."

A dull, hollow voice that bore almost no resemblance to Mileena's began speaking hoarsely. "Proteomics log 48322.5. I have requisitioned materials to begin reconstructing proteomics after the explosive decompression of the outer and inner lab. Now that the hull is being rebuilt, I have asked the acting chief engineer, Lieutenant Carey to assess any remaining structural weaknesses on this section of deck four. He assures me that the events that resulted in the lab's destruction are unlikely to occur again, but he has taken into account my request for further strengthening of the bulkheads in this area. In the meantime, I am reconfiguring proteomics to act with fewer personnel now that the rest of the Cronin lab of the Daystrom institute is dead."

There was a laden pause, enough so that Janeway thought the recording had cut off. A few seconds later, though, the log resumed.

"I have put in a request to the captain for additional crewmembers to be assigned to proteomics. Given the chaos of the ship, though, it is unlikely that she will be aware of proteomics. I believe that, if I put in sufficient effort, she will notice what I am doing and give me the resources I require. Janeway is, after all, a scientist. I believe we will share a kinship on that level." There was an audible sigh and the log ended with a click.

She played the next few logs. Mileena's voice gained more emotion, but it was mostly frustration. The repairs were slow and not to her liking. She was being shafted by the new chief of engineering, who was far more preoccupied with the photon torpedo banks than proteomics. Supplies were too tight for her to even begin rudimentary experimentation. Her requests for personnel were being put off and denied by the boorish warrior of a first officer. And throughout, there was the hope that the only true scientist on board, the captain, would see fit to grant her appeals for some...and eventually, any resources.

By the sixth recording, the tone had shifted to one of resignation. By the tenth, she was mentioning Neelix, trading rations, and meeting some of the other ensigns in adjoining departments with the hope of borrowing their time. The captain's name had completely disappeared from the recordings. She had given up on the captain and found people who would support her and care for her. She had built her lab once again, piecemeal, from fragments of other departments and her own stubbornness.

Janeway cut off the logs and rested her head on her knees. Damn, she had failed on every level of that woman's expectation. Why hadn't she noticed? Why hadn't she cared? Surely between Kazon attacks and aborted routes home, she could have taken a few minutes to find one of the handful of scientists on the ship so they could have a conversation. Of course, she reminded herself, Chakotay was rapidly assigned personnel duties, leaving her to concentrate on their vast mission. Mileena's communiqués never reached the captain's eyes. The commander had made sure that Janeway was screened from any unnecessary disturbances. Disturbances that included an appeal to the captain's scientific nature from a corner of Voyager that all but begged her to pay attention, just for a few minutes.

A lump formed in Janeway's throat as she settled back to bed, exchanging the robe for another set of blankets. The chill that had settled on her began to lift as she closed her unexpectedly moist eyes against her pillow. "I notice you now, Mileena," she whispered. "I won't let you be forgotten again."


	3. Chapter 3

"Status report."

The senior staff around the conference table glanced among themselves to determine whose neck would go on the guillotine first. More so than usual, their commanding captain was on edge. Frown lines puckered her face and her hands seemed to move out of synch with her unable-to-sit-still body. Her blue-grey eyes were decidedly in the thundercloud shade at the moment. No one was particularly excited about laying out new information, even if it were relatively benign.

The crew understood that rescuing a race on the edge of extinction was part of the Starfleet mission. Janeway herself had spearheaded the research process and was devoting significant time and resources to aiding the scientists in any way she could. She was adamant that Voyager give the Erato whatever aid she could provide. At the moment, though, the captain had to contend with the grumblings of the crew.

Complaints about being used as a glorified ferry service for over a week, the inconvenience of forcefields and decontamination procedures had been percolating through the lower decks. Plus, there was the ever-present fear of someone accidentally breaking protocol and infecting the entire crew with a pathogen that had a nearly 70% kill rate. She'd not had this level of active, if low-level, discontent since early on in their journey. It was likely that the progress Voyager had made on her way home was making every crewmember conscious of unnecessary risks this late in the journey. Transporting almost a dozen aliens with a dangerous disease into a still-contested area was doing nothing good to morale. She was disappointed with Voyager's attitude, but showed it primarily in front of her senior staff.

As usual, Tuvok maneuvered himself in front of the captain's ire. "We are approximately 32 hours away from the Likel colony. The Consul of the colony has been in touch with us and sends his gratitude for our mission. However, there is a complication."

"Complication," asked Janeway.

"The Head Scientist has informed me that the virus variant on the Likel colony is different from that on the homeworld. Although local mutations were expected, this variant may react very poorly with the ones on this ship. She apologizes that she did not discover this sooner, but the data stream from colony to colony has been quite limited."

Torres gave a look of barely-muted annoyance. "So are we setting up another array of forcefields? How many times can we slice the conference room into sections before it looks like a flipbook?"

"B'Elanna," said Janeway, a warning tone creeping into her voice. "These are our guests and they are in desperate need of our help. Setting up forcefield emitters is preferable to chancing their lives."

Lieutenant Torres bristled and aimed for a retort, but her spouse interrupted.

"I believe I have a solution. "We've been working on ways to repair and reconfigure the Erato shuttlecraft. With a few modifications, we believe that it can be used for short-range flights again. All we'd need to do is attach a forcefield emitter to the outer hull and they'd be able to meet face-to-face. We just need to get in-"

"How," demanded Torres. "It's sitting in a room full of pathogens. Decontamination doesn't work on people, Lieutenant." Using her mate's formal title never meant something good for Lieutenant Torres.

"We were thinking of doing a few spacewalks once we dropped to a lower warp. At warp five, a spacewalk would be sa-"

"Too risky," said the captain with a headshake and a half-turn on her heel. "The Erato can't tell us if there are still enemies in orbit. I'd hate to go to higher warp with anyone within the warp bubble. However, repairing their shuttlecraft may give them enough transportation capacity to let them travel from colony to colony on their own." Janeway sighed and rubbed her temples. "How long do you think it would take to make the repairs?"

"Twenty hours," calculated Torres. "Assuming that I put five or six people on it."

"Alternatively," continued Chakotay, hoping to divert some of Janeway's ire towards himself. "We could give them one of our shuttlecraft. There may be raw materials in the localized debris field that can be used to construct a replacement. Given the debris' location, it probably isn't contaminated." He put out a brown palm, trying to seem reasonable and almost friendly. It failed.

"I will consider it," she said, Janeway's lips pursed to the point of being almost white. "Any other suggestions?" Her tone was less inquisitive and more openly inviting a challenge. Having her senior staff bickering was grating on her nerves.

Whether unaware of the emotion or rising to the occasion, Seven of Nine stepped into the fray. She squared her shoulders, dropped her chin, and spoke in her most scientific voice. Which, to be honest, was not observably different from her regular voice.

"Captain, have you considered that the Doctor and I might be logical choices for visiting the Erato colony," she queried. "With his mobile emitter, he is in no danger of being infected. It is likely that my nanoprobes will also render me immune."

"The Doctor has already volunteered and I have assented, under the condition that the emitter be put through decontamination. However, the delegation has been adamant that they must go down to the surface and stand on it themselves. The Head Scientist considers it her personal duty to see the destruction she has helped wreak." She turned her eyes towards the science officer, who returned her gaze with a raised optical implant. "As for your nanoprobes, I am not willing to experiment with them to see if they are going to clear out this kind of pathogen. I don't want to take a seventy percent chance of losing you."

Seven nodded her head in a way that suggested she thought the captain was being predictably irrational. Janeway turned away in annoyance and did another lap around the conference table.

"Anything else," she queried.

"We launched the class five probe a few hours ago," said Harry Kim, his voice barely hiding a quaver. "There's been no telemetry from it yet. We expect it will be within range of the abandoned colonies within the day."

"Keep me informed," she said. ensign Kim had the distinct feeling of being reprimanded, but he couldn't figure out what for.

"Anything else," she said, leaning her back against a bulkhead overlooking the stars.

"Ensign Baytart and Ensign Soohoo are requesting permission to take the _Venture_ out for a test drive when we're in orbit," added Tom Paris quickly. His body tensed and he leaned forward, almost ready to dive under the table should the captain pull out a verbal phaser and fire it at him.

To his infinite relief, her demeanor shifted slightly, from outright frustration to frustrated curiosity. The half-Trill's work seemed to intrigue her, noted Paris. He'd only just been brought into the project in the last few weeks. It was interesting stuff, more so than he thought it would be, and he was willing to go out on a limb for his beta and gamma-shift relief officer. That, plus the captain's approval, made it a safer topic than most.

"They want to run a test on the newest iteration of the bioneural indirect interface. Ensign Baytart has been running simulations for the better part of a year. Ensign Irae did another push two months ago and we've been fitting it onto the _Venture_ ever since."

"Tom, you've been making unauthorized modifications to my shuttlecraft using untested equipment," said LieutenantTorres, banging the table with flat palms, her mouth agape and her brows furrowed. "What would we have done had we actually needed the shuttlecraft and your tinkering with it left it unworkable?"

"The interface doesn't damage the shuttlecraft, B'Elanna. Don't you trust me to think of that?" he retorted, then softened his tone when she made a sound that approached a Klingon growl. "Listen, Carey's a good engineer. Baytart's a good pilot. I've gone over the schematics and I'm scheduled to meet with the ensign before we take out the shuttle. I think this is a great opportunity."

"You've gotten Carey in on this? How? And if it's that ensign's project, why isn't she throwing herself out there?" Torres was half-out of her seat at this point, crouching over the table and shouting at her husband.

"Carey's been involved for years, B'Elanna. From what Baytart tells me, Ensign Irae has recruited most of Engineering at one point or another. And she wants to go out, but she suspects that she'll still be recovering from surgery, which is why she's asking Ensign Soohoo." Tom held out his hands as an ineffective shield against his livid spouse. He had the feeling that the next few days would be extremely uncomfortable in their quarters.

"B'Elanna. Tom. That's quite enough." Janeway had reverted to a state of higher tension. There were times she regretted allowing the two of them to carry on a public relationship. This was one of them.

"Surgery," said Chakotay, his eyes darting from Seven to the captain. "Is something wrong?"

"No," said Seven brightly. "We have completed the surgical preparations for the direct bioneural interface port implantation procedure. We are waiting for the captain to approve them, at which point we will consult with the Doctor. I believe that the result will be slightly less primitive than before, though nowhere near as advanced as the Borg."

If anyone had found a pin to drop, everyone in there would have been able to hear it. Tuvok's eyes had launched nearly into his forehead, while Paris and Kim were eying each other with a look of equal parts concern and concealed amusement at the upcoming fight. Torres had fully risen from her chair, while Chakotay looked about two seconds away from putting his head on the table.

And Janeway, for her part, covered her face with her hands and tried to pretend that the meeting had ended ten minutes before.

"Captain," said Tuvok slowly. "Are you suggesting that Ensign Irae will be using some sort of Borg apparatus to interface with the shuttlecraft? I must protest, based on security procedures."

"No, Tuvok," she said in an exasperated voice. "She...and Seven...have designed a way for her to temporarily communicate with her bioneural console and computer that lets her use her nerves to directly control the apparatus. It's a new, Federation-inspired design not Borg technology. She has asked me for her permission and I have tentatively granted it. However, I have the final say on its implementation." Why. Why did she have to explain this right now, when all she wanted to do was sit in her ready room drinking a whiskey and soda?

The Vulcan looked barely appeased, but emitted a "Yes, captain", that implied a later conversation about just what she had allowed.

"Outrageous," said Torres in a half-shout. "After all we've gone through with the Borg and with Seven, you're letting some crazy-"

"Sit down, B'Elanna," said Chakotay, his dark eyes afire and his voice dangerously resonant. "Mileena isn't crazy. She is a brilliant scientist whose research has benefitted the crew on more occasions than you recognize. She's willing to put her body on the line to get the best results possible and you, of all people, should respect that. If you find her work unacceptable, you should tell her to her face that you can't spare any equipment for her. But you should also tell her that just minutes ago, I was going to give away a shuttlecraft without so much of a comment from you."

The Lieutenant glanced at the glowering faces of her superior officers and recognized that this was absolutely not the time to argue further.

Janeway spoke in a low tone that bordered on a growl. "I'll release all the data related to the implants as soon as I get the surgical plan. In the meantime, make the arrangements to help the Erato visit their planet. Mr. Paris, I'll consider whether we have the resources right now for this flight. Dismissed."

The room emptied at warp speed, except for Chakotay, who walked towards the captain at half impulse. She sagged into a chair and let him sit on the table in front of her.

"Chakotay, see what you can do about the crew. Remind them that our return to the Alpha quadrant is not our only responsibility. We can't just abandon these people." At times, she wished that she had the deep, warm connection that her first officer did with everyone from the lowliest ensign to the captain herself. She could demand their compliance, and they would jump to her command, but he could move their hearts and minds.

"They're restless, Kathryn. They can feel that we're on the edge of a breakthrough with slipstream technology, even if we aren't actually that close. But I agree with you. Their attitudes aren't appropriate and, at least for the Erato's sake, they need to regain their focus.

"Thank you, Chakotay." She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, expecting him to leave the room. Instead, his face took on a welcome veil of levity.

"I'm glad we got that out in the open. I can't wait to manage what I am sure will be an endless torrent of complaints about turning Voyager into a Borg apparatus. Again."

The captain sighed. "Whenever I bring it up, I think it's a terrible mistake. But then I see the work and it somehow butts heads perfectly against my objections." She stood up "I'll see what she has for me today."

He smiled more broadly at his captain. "She grows on you, doesn't she? Strange girl. Quite compelling in her quiet way."

"Girl? Hah," said Janeway. "I checked her record. She's actually closer to 47. Something about the Trill solar cycle being about three quarters of Earth's. Starfleet, or at least the Daystrom, counts by Earth years, so she's 33 in our logbooks. Technically, though, she's older than either one of us."

"That's always puzzled me. She has all the normal Trill features: cold hands, yellow eyes, light frame. But the skin patterning is missing." He shrugged. "Maybe she's a genetic exception, but I haven't come across anyone with a Trill heritage, no matter how many generations removed, without them."

Janeway's tone was not as playful as she would have preferred. "How do you know so much about Trill physiology?"

He grinned widely and hopped off the table, glad to have defused the situation slightly. "Let's just say that I'm apparently exotic and almost irresistible to certain populations." He nodded and excused himself from the room.

Janeway took in a moment to hear the silence and then her thoughts drifted. The ensign's dark hair, light brown skin, and pale yellow eyes swam in front of her. Janeway never thought of the eye color as strange, though now she was conscious of how inhuman it was to have yellow eyes. They were just the natural color of Mileena's eyes, ones that smoldered when she was angry and glowed whenever the captain came into the lab. They were beautiful, Janeway said, and then caught herself. Because they were unusual, of course. Well, to be precise, they were unusual to humans. To everyone Mileena had been raised with, they were just normal. It was all a matter of perspective. She shook off this line of thinking, which had been happening a bit too often for her taste. As Chakotay pointed out, though, the young woman did tend to grow on people.

With that, she finished up a few reports and headed down to proteomics for a totally unnecessary status update.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Mileena had gotten unaccustomed to yelling during her time on Voyager. She'd never been the most emotional of people without significant provocation. There'd been almost none of that in the past five years. In fact, she couldn't remember a time when she'd spoken above a slightly louder-than-usual warning tone without being involved in a strenuous physical exertion. It just hadn't been necessary.

Yet here she was, arguing violently at the top of her lungs, just a few decibels away from screaming. She'd gotten out of her chair and was arched forward towards the Erato in the other room. Her face was flushed purple and the hyperspanner in her hand had, in spite of its tritanium-reinforced shell, delicately cracked where she crushed it with her hand. The other arm, affixed to the bioneural console, pulsed and oozed in protest as her shaking body threatened to rip it out of its placement. A few bits of saliva spewed out of her mouth as she barely resisted the urge to throw the bent tool back into the outer lab.

"It's unacceptable. It's not within ten standard deviations of acceptable. It's sloppy, it's shoddy, and what's more, it's fucking dangerous."

On the other side of the grey-green forcefield, the Head Scientist had bared her rows of pointed teeth and furrowed her now-fuchsia brows into a sharp V. Her long fingers gripped the edges of one of the protein sequencers in an apparent effort to keep her from flinging herself towards the ensign with painful, potentially fatal, results. The retorting voice was somewhat calmer, but everything about her body language suggested that it was only with great effort that she kept any semblance of control. Behind her, four scientists worked diligently, forcing themselves to be unaware of the raging argument taking place around them.

"Which is why we need to do it now. Not later. Now. We need it fixed now. And if you're not willing to do it, by my blackened homeland I swear that I will come in there and do it myself."

The Head Scientist ducked reflexively as Mileena lost the battle of wills with herself and flung the stimulator into the wet lab's forcefield, where it crackled and sparked into a charred and twisted heap. The two of them watched it fall and began a simultaneous barrage of finger pointing and profanity before taking a shared breath as they heard the door to proteomics open. Jelay twisted around while Mileena peeked across the complex of equipment in the middle of the room.

Leaning against the bulkhead door on the far side was a cross-armed Captain Janeway, her face twisted into a wry grin.

"Am I interrupted something…or do I need to call security," she asked. Mileena took her tone as annoyed bemusement, then wondered if that was actually possible

The two senior scientists looked at each other. Jelay cocked her chin at Mileena, who raised an eyebrow before sitting back into her massive metal chair. She rubbed her trapped arm a few times and pressed down on the contacts, pushing a combination of blood and lymph out from the complaining wounds. Now that her passions had eased, she was beginning to get feedback from the computer. Indistinct shapes and sounds floated past her, obscuring the very real input of the people nearby. Her eyes fluttered closed and she relaxed.

"Oh no you don't," warned the Head Scientist. "I will not drag your machine-addled brain back out of that trance if you can't control it. I will use the ball."

"The ball," queried Janeway, her voice still that blend of entertainment and aggravation.

"A hard silicate-fired ceramic sphere that, we discovered, doesn't disintegrate in the forcefields." The Erato removed the glossy ball from its holder and brought it over to the captain. The black surface refracted light into shifting rainbows and opaline eddies. Janeway looked at it, then looked back up with a glint in her eyes.

"So you throw it at Mileena when you're upset at her," mused the captain. "I can't say I haven't been tempted with some of my own crew."

"Not quite," said the Erato with musical laughter. "If you pass it through a bit of the field, the interference causes a high-pitched shriek. It only stops when she's not as distracted, which is almost immediately. It's quite hard to cover both ears with only one eye, little half-blood."

Mileena stood up again and shook her head, trying to clear the web of stimuli that was being knit across her mind. "Well, if I'm a half-blood, you're an ill-begotten lizard's daughter," she mumbled. The insults felt like distant blocks across a horizon.

"Stay with me, Y'leena," said Jelay, her voice three tones lower. "Disconnect if you can't. The captain needs you."

"I…comply," the younger scientist said, weakly, and began the shutdown procedure for the direct interface.

"Mind telling me what's going on," asked the captain, looking past the Erato in front of her to Mileena.

The half-Trill had eased the contact out of her arm and was now gently pressing gauze to it, draining out the pocket of fluid that had formed in the three hours she'd been online. She was clumsily trying to re-wrap the bandage and only managed to gather up a rumpled assortment of bandages across her arm. The, she initiated the standard shutdown and sterilization procedures as best she could with just one hand. Warning the rest of the Erato, she shifted the forcefield emitters twice. The first step made a sealed corridor that was sprayed with pathogen binding decontaminant. The second opened at the far end and allowed her to exit proteomics. She stood near the doorway, with nothing but the captain's austere presence to keep her in place.

"Gladly, captain," said the scientist smoothly, "if you would allow me…us…to explain." She'd returned to the dull yellow-orange that Mileena had come to recognize as her neutral coloring. Gathering up her light brown robes, the Erato gracefully maneuvered around the piles of equipment and came to stand next to Mileena, a single glittering line of forcefield dividing their shared mindset.

"The Erato conduct science in a much different way from the Federation, captain," Mileena said calmly. The scientific training she'd fostered was rapidly reestablishing her emotional control. "Theirs is a far more visceral, more ardent engagement. Where I might lecture and convince, they rage and fume."

"It's not just for show, captain," said the Head Scientist with a twisting smile. "Our people tend to be polite and non-confrontational, often to a fault. When permitted to let our passions rise without abandon, we often find that our intellectual fervor is loosed with it. Even the personal insults and racial slurs have a place to fan the flames of our intellect. I have found that arguing with Mileena has provided me with great insight."

"Indeed," said one of the lesser scientists, sidling up next to the Head Scientist and bowing low before the infuriated captain. "We have made three major thought process breakthroughs in the past two hours. It is quite extraordinary." Jelay nodded with approval and the younger scientist scuttled back to her station.

"And the hyperspanner was, what, a casualty of war?" She pointed a pale finger at the smoldering wreckage in the wet lab, which was currently being sprayed with a fine mist of disinfectant.

"Ah, it was actually broken, captain, before I got my hands on it. We were trying to tweak the power output on the radical decondenser...filtration…module," she said, looking at Jelay for a hint. She actually had little idea of what that particular piece of technology did relative to her own synthesis equipment. All she knew were two things. One, it did something in two steps that should have taken four, and two, that it broke down almost as often as her protein assimilator. They'd tried to balance the fluctuations with some moderate tweaking, but the console had shorted and managed to take the hyperspanner with it. Mileena didn't know that you could completely fuse the interior of a hyperspanner into a single block of blackened metal. That had started the latest argument and provided her with something to grab while annoyed.

"And it shorted," continued the Erato. "Your ship uses a slightly different current than does our equipment. We have been encountering some problems at higher process loads. Unfortunately, now that we're here, it's much harder for your Engineering crew to come in and work, which means that we've been making repairs as we go. I assure you that we can replace that piece of equipment once we reach our colony. There will likely be the raw materials needed to replicate one."

Janeway's eyebrows attempted to leave her forehead, but Mileena sensed a shift in her mood. Technically, what the scientists were doing wasn't wrong. It was indecorous to argue like that, certainly, but until the captain entered, it had been done behind closed doors. Equipment broke and was recycled all the time. Once the wet lab had been cleaned, she could easily pick up the broken spanner, bring it to Engineering, and have someone laugh at her for managing to impressively ruin a tool.

"Captain, forgive me," said the Erato, closing her eyes and touching the middle of her forehead. "I am the senior scientist in this lab. I should have tempered myself and the emotions of my subordinates."

Mileena felt like someone had slapped her across the face. Remembering the dangerous path she was already treading, she managed to limit her surprise to a mild waver. "You are my senior? Since when?"

"Since I have almost seventy years more experience than you do and since neither of your blood-kin's races are especially known for being long-lived. You are a junior among your people, still, and I know you have not managed a lab yourself. It is your space and your captain's ship, but it is my responsibility, Y'leena, so long as I am working with you." The Erato's tone was cordial and warm, not holding the note of condescension that she might have expected from another species. While Mileena's face burned with a flush of embarrassment, she couldn't speak back in front of the captain. The two scientists would need to hash this out later.

The captain's body language changed in a flash. Her stormy blue-grey eyes narrowed so thinly that Mileena half-expected them to emit a pulse of gamma radiation. The red-clad woman leaned closer, her voice steady and as low as a whisper. "Regardless of your feelings, Head Scientist, the I am the ensign's superior officer, while you are a guest on my ship. I make the final determination of responsibility for my crew and my equipment. Your feelings are noted, but their premise is flawed."

"Is that so, captain," the Head Scientist replied, her hackles visibly raised. "Is it flawed to discover that you've neglected your duties as her supervisor for the entirety of her journey? It's only now that she's turned to me as her adviser, that you object. I wonder-" The Head Scientist caught herself as Janeway's face deepened into a scarlet-tinged rage. "Excuse me, captain. I became lost in the moment. I perhaps need some time away from the lab to gain perspective."

"I think that is a very wise plan," said the captain dangerously. Mileena was grateful for the forcefield between the two. As it was, the tension was almost unbearable. Physical proximity would have made it even worse, especially since each one seemed primed to engage on a rare physical confrontation.

Jelay took a step back and her hand grazed a console. "Transporter room 2, can you prepare a beam-out to cargo bay 1 for me?"

Lauren's confused voice broke over the comm. "Yes, of course. I'll need a few minutes to bring the modified pattern buffers online. We weren't expecting you out of there for another few hours."

"There's been a change of plans, ensign. Thank you." The comm link went dead.

"I will remain in the cargo bay until you give me permission otherwise. Is that acceptable, captain?"

"It is," said the captain. Her crossed arms and rigid body filled Mileena with the sort of dread she hadn't felt since the Alpha quadrant.

The Head Scientist turned to Mileena, who was using every meditation, anger-control, and diversion tactic to keep from bursting into hysterics.

"Y'leena, please, run the experiments. It may be dangerous, but we don't have the time anymore. Our people have not moved to pure simulation. Take some of our tissue and work with it. We can provide enough for you to use."

"Jelay," she said, preparing to argue. Then, she reconsidered and answered quietly. "Alright. Have Zenmay prepare a few cubic centimeters of blood and stabilize it for preparation. But I'm not injecting her with anything until I'm sure it's not going to kill her."

"Very well," said the scientist, clearly pleased in spite of the tension in the room. "And remember, Y'leena: you are not to reconnect yourself to that machine today. Your body cannot handle it and, at this point, neither can your mind."

Mileena frowned, but assented to that as well. The Head Scientist disliked losing Mileena into the pathways of the bioneural console. The reciprocal link was good for manipulating known quantities and expanding Mileena's solo mind. However, it provided an active hindrance to creative communication from external sources.

"Head Scientist," said Lauren cautiously over the comm. "We're ready."

"Go ahead, ensign." She smiled. "Good bye, Y'leena."

She sparkled away, leaving Janeway and Mileena standing at the edge of the corridor.

Mileena tilted her head down to fix her brilliant yellow eyes on the captain's face. In the back of her mind, as she quickly re-comported herself, she reflected on the loveliness of the captain. The curves of her cheekbones and the long auburn hair captivated the ensign and she spent a moment visually tracing the lines of Janeway's countenance before assuming a more abashed posture in front of the captain's rigid, cross-armed figure.

"Was there something you wanted to speak to me about, captain," she asked with a resigned breath.

"More than one thing, apparently," noted the captain, looking down at the red-tinged tangle of fabric that Mileena was gingerly cradling against her body. "Do I need to bring you to sickbay for that?"

"Oh this," she said with a flush of pink coming to her face. "No, no. It's sterile, more or less. I just need to re-wrap it. I can get Lau-" She took a step forward, and a dangling piece of cloth released itself from the pile, falling to the floor in a wrinkled heap. The captain and the ensign both looked down, then back up. "I…think we should head to sickbay."

"I concur," said the captain.

They began walking slowly towards sickbay. Janeway's agitation was still visible and Mileena felt at a loss as to how to defuse it. Her captain chose instead to address the situation as they walked around another curve.

"Jelay's attitude towards you is quite...unexpected," said Janeway. "She seems to take certain liberties with the chain of command."

"The Erato approach their research teams very differently. Individual labs are like families and I have been, for lack of a better term, adopted." The captain frowned with what seemed to be disappointment and Mileena recognized that she had somehow misstepped. Mileena summoned up a bit of courage and then took a moment to practice breathing as they entered the turbolift.

The pale brown woman dropped her eyelids halfway and immersed herself in the apology.

"Captain, regardless of what Jelay might think, Voyager is my home and my family. In fact, being with Jelay made me realize just how...poorly I have behaved with you and commander Chakotay. Before coming aboard, I'd spent years in academic training, laboring without help or sufficient resources under the cold eye of my distant adviser. I thought it had adequately prepared me for being a lone scientist on a starship." She took a deep breath. "But it didn't prepare me for my true duty, which is to support Voyager as part of your crew. Everything I have done, from sequestering resources to disobeying your commands, has acted in contradiction of what you need from me. I am sorry."

Janeway's eyes had turned a soft blue and she tentatively put a hand on Mileena's functional shoulder. The half-Trill leaned into the touch, but argued with herself to keep upright and not to press herself towards the captain further. She wrangled a smile onto her face and kept her gaze towards the magical contact that the captain was making with her.

"From what I have learned, and not just from Jelay, we weren't so supportive of your efforts in return. Commander Chakotay has made me aware of the circumstances under which you have operated. And I-" She pulled away and flushed. "I have made it clear that I will be paying more attention to you."

"Thank you, captain. I just wanted to be..." Her comment died before she could form it. To be clear? To be honest? To somehow relieve the vibrating tension between her and the captain whenever they were in the same room?

"Understood, ensign," acknowledged the captain, saving Mileena from finding words that might or might not be appropriate.

They reached deck five and began walking towards Sickbay. The captain shifted the topic back to the research.

"Things are otherwise going well in spite of the pyrotechnics?"

"I'd say in addition to." Mileena's face lit up. This was a far safer topic. "It's a fascinating way of handling those pent-up emotions. They don't get frustrated, really. If something goes wrong, they yell until they have insight. It's more or less the opposite of all the science I've ever done."

"Similarly."

"Back at the Daystrom, we'd get into these tense ruts where no one would speak to each other for days. Then we'd have a carefully executed conversation and more or less lay the whole thing to rest. Well, at least in the first lab." Mileena's face worked itself into and out of a frown within a few seconds. No need to go back over that disaster. "Cronin maintained a bit more casual atmosphere. That's, ah, probably why I've had more trouble on Voyager, ma'am."

Janeway gave her a wry smile. "I think, under the circumstances, that's not entirely unexpected. There's always time to change."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

The schematic of Ensign Irae's nervous system rotated for the fiftieth time as the four-way argument progressed in sickbay. The brusquely administered wrapping of her bandages had provided a natural segue into a discussion of the planned surgery. Seven of Nine had been called down and now the Doctor, the two scientists, and the captain were engaged in a heated debate about the merits and dangers of the multisite port implantation.

"The surgery is excessively complex," grumbled the Doctor. "Six ports on each arm, plus five on the palm of each hand, plus," he said with a jabbing finger, "spinal implants plus a set of completely superfluous implants in your somatosensory and motor corticies." His voice rose to an indecorous level. "Any slip could cause irreversible nerve damage, leaving you paralyzed or worse. Then, you want me to remove them six months later after they've been integrated fully into your anatomy."

"So you are saying that this surgery is beyond your capabilities," replied the Borg.

"It is not," retorted the hologram, inching closer to Seven of Nine. "But even with an expert surgical team, this would take ten hours to perform. Alone, it's not feasible. Mr. Paris, for all his piloting skill, is not a scrub nurse. The only other person on the vessel who I'd consider remotely qualified is you, but you're going to be preoccupied with the electronics and not the biology."

Janeway stood, arms crossed, watching the debate continue. Her agreement to let the surgery progress was seeming like a poorer and poorer choice with every layer of intricacy. There had been nothing in the ensign's initial request that suggested her revamping her entire neurology to accommodate the hardware. When Janeway objected, though, even the Doctor pointed out that a second set of implants somewhere in the central nervous system would be required to control the backflow of information from the computer and to fine-tune the interface command. She could argue ship's protocol for hours, but unless she was willing to shut down the entire idea, she would need to bend. She hated bending.

The ensign was holding her own in the discussion, she noticed. Her deference to the Doctor and her chafing under his demeanor had been put aside when it came to her work. He'd talked her out of a set of ports on every finger, but she'd been adamant that there would need to be something beyond the nerve branches in her upper forearm. Now, they were going round and round on whether spinal or cortical implants would be optimal. Ensign Irae wanted both, Seven wanted cortical, and the Doctor wanted to find a solution that involved neither. With deliberate inflection and controlled logic, the scientist had been parrying and meeting all of the Doctor's arguments with well-spun retorts. Janeway, a currently silent observer, had first-hand knowledge of how well the proteomics officer could argue her ground.

Of course, she said mentally, the Doctor wasn't at the disadvantage that Janeway was. Entering the lab and watching the intensity of the relationship between Mileena and Jelay had spawned a pang of jealousy that only grew as the Head Scientist lay claim to the relatively younger woman and implied Janeway's neglect. After all, in just a few days, the Erato and half-Trill had established the sort of scientific bond that Janeway missed from her years as a science officer, and for the Erato, that brought with it a familial closeness that Janeway didn't want to envy. All five of the scientists began interacting with Mileena as if she'd been part of their group for years. They'd even given her the nickname Y'leena, after a black-and-yellow spotted mountain cat called the ylid, once she told them about her species. Meanwhile, Janeway hadn't even known that the officer was half-Trill until she'd divulged it in an argument. The racial composition of her crew was barely interesting to her, but not knowing Mileena's had unexpectedly made her ashamed. She should have taken the time to learn more. The woman was an intricate puzzle that Janeway found herself longing to unravel.

Something in the Doctor's tone brought her back to careful attention. He'd apparently reached a conclusion, one that sounded too smug to have been Mileena's original plan.

"Excellent. We'll adapt the cortical implants from the design I acquired from Denara." His voice shifted to one that was wistful and the captain sympathized with the loss of his first love. "I think she would have been gratified to know that I've adapted her technology."

"That sounds unl-" Both the captain and the ensign shot Seven a withering gaze. "That sounds plausible," she finished. "They will provide the template for the external devices we will use once the implants are removed."

The ensign's face had furrowed along her pale pink lips and icy yellow eyes, but the argument was finished. "Very well," she said with resignation.

"Of course, there's the small problem of not having the equipment or personnel to perform the surgery, so it will be put off indefinitely until we can come across an advanced race with significant medical technology." He paused, "that isn't trying to harvest our organs."

"Unacceptable," returned the ensign. "Indefinitely is not a time course that I plan on following."

"Then what do you suggest, ensign? Opening a medical school in the holodeck," he said with bright sarcasm. "I'm sure that you'll have many eager students."

She turned to the captain by way of an answer. "Permission to contact the Erato in proteomics."

Janeway nodded. "Permission granted."

One of the screens sprung to life and a brightly colored orange scientist filled their view. "Benat, can you provide the logistics of our earlier discussion?"

"Of course, Y'leena," she said with a deferential bow. "Captain, Doctor, Seven: the planet we are approaching has significant medical facilities that were partially rebuilt after the war. We have doctors and equipment that can handle this sort of operation. We took the liberty of checking when we got into range."

"You would have her beam down into the middle of a plague," said Janeway disbelievingly.

"The opposite," said Benat with a grand flourish that nearly tipped over a beaker. "We would beam the robotic surgical equipment into your Sickbay, decontaminate it, and have the surgeons operate remotely."

"Is that even feasible," replied Janeway, turning to the Doctor.

He stroked his face thoughtfully. "Microsurgery is usually accomplished through a doctor's interface with a telemanipulator and a robotic arm. On many planets, it was used to perform life-saving surgeries when the specialist and patient weren't in the same hospital." He clasped his hands behind his back. "It's possible, though we would need to compensate for the lag in subspace communications."

Janeway nodded. "I'll ask Mr. Kim for an assessment on altering the communications array. If it takes more than a few hours, though, I won't allow it. We're already pulled to the extremes."

He quelled his enthusiasm. "Still, I would be here alone. If something were to go wrong, the robotic surgical equipment wouldn't save her."

"It would also be possible to have one of the surgeons personally assist you. She could modify a hazmat suit to be more flexible. Using sterile technique would almost negate the chance of infection."

Janeway took a few steps toward the Doctor and the viewscreen. "This experiment is becoming riskier with every sentence. I don't like the extra chance of contamination with this surgeon."

"The alternative is to try and have the Doctor perform it all himself, which will increase the chances of something going wrong at the neurological level." The ensign turned towards Janeway and leveled her eyes with the captain's. "Captain, I've considered the risks. I know all the possible outcomes. I would much rather a life with the Erato, whole but infected, than a life on Voyager, trapped in my own body or brain-damaged beyond repair."

The bluntness of her statement was not unanticipated, but Janeway still blinked. "Unless the contamination kills you instead. You would rather be dead than neurologically compromised."

The scientist answered in the affirmative. "Yes. I could accept a life of limited mobility, but full paralysis or a loss of intellect are not options that I can live with. I would commit suicide rather than try to exist in that state. On the other hand, chances of infection are negligible and, given what I know of the pathogen, I am unlikely to die from it."

Janeway considered her options carefully. Leaving a crewmember behind was something she'd never wanted to do, though she'd allowed the crew the chance to stay here in the Delta Quadrant on more than one occasion. On the other hand, the ethical ramifications of allowing a crewmember to take her own life due to physical disability were disconcerting. It had been discussed after Neelix suffered his injury and with Seven shortly after her coming aboard. The suicide of Quinn after she granted him mortality also weighed on her. She could, as a captain, leave the ensign in a state that would prevent her from doing harm to herself, but that option was equally distasteful. No good answers and no simple answers. Why couldn't there ever be any with this woman?

"Captain," she said again, interrupting Janeway's troubling thoughts. "I want to live and see this project through. The best way to make this happen is to put into place every possible precaution. Let the Erato operate on me. Let this choice be mine."

Janeway bent. "If I am satisfied with the contamination protocols and the time lag on the communications and if I get approval from the senior staff, I will let the surgery take place."

Joy dawned upon the scientist's face and set her yellow eyes sparkling. Janeway noticed her arm muscles twitch and smiled in response; the young woman must have resisted the urge to hug her. Truth to be told, Janeway was disappointed. Something about having that slim, pale brown figure enveloping her was extraordinarily tempting. She made do with a returned smile of satisfaction and a collegial pat on the arm.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. There is still much work to be done." Janeway breezed out of Sickbay and almost fled up to the bridge.

Damn, damn, she whispered to herself. None of these feelings were appropriate or even made sense. This was a woman she barely knew who, as often as not, made her want to throw the ensign out of the nearest bulkhead from sheer frustration. How many hours had they spent together, just the two of them? Twenty? Thirty? Was that enough to form a connection like this? Nothing in Janeway's history made her hasty with her emotions, but these felt like a snowball that threatened to release an entire avalanche. Alone in the turbolift, she caught her breath and allowed a tiny smile. Well, she might as well enjoy the novelty of the sensation. After all, she'd not had a schoolgirl crush since she was an actual schoolgirl. It would be a silly, innocent flirtation that would die off as soon as the ensign was more ensconced in her work.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Clanging her head against the doorway of the shuttlecraft was the last straw for B'Elanna Torres. She let loose a throaty Klingon yell of outrage and began unwisely punching the duranium hull until her knuckles were red and swollen. Then, she gripped the curving bulkhead that made up the shuttle's ceiling and attempted to rip it out and throw it satisfyingly against the wall. It squeaked a little in protest, but otherwise failed to yield to her anger.

B'Elanna flopped back into the silver metal chair and leaned her ridge-covered head on the dull grey console in front of her. She'd been awake for almost 36 hours and even her steely nerves had begun to fray. Running around the ship performing menial tasks was frustrating on the best of days, but doing those sorts of things for a bunch of uppity aliens who had taken over her cargo bay made her work even less enjoyable. She couldn't figure out what had been worse: reconfiguring forcefields and emitters, overseeing endless decontamination protocols, or trying to teach a team of inexperienced Erato scientists how to repair their shuttle without being able to physically intervene when they screwed up. There'd been a disastrous stint in the holodeck, where two of them proved they couldn't figure out how to manipulate a hyperspanner from within a biohazard suit, regardless of their apparent intellect. At least they'd been polite about it, but she guessed it was as forced as her patience.

Now she was here, waiting for Chakotay and that ensign, to see if she'd be ordered to install some sort of experimental hardware into her shuttlecraft. The captain had, against B'Elanna's wishes, allowed the test flight to go forward. Baytart had already bounced into Engineering for a jovial visit and had followed her around as she tried to screen him out and finish her tasks, explaining all the ways in which this was going to revolutionize flight. The speed, the control, and the flexibility could increase a shuttlecraft's responsiveness by 30%. He'd been able to out fly photon torpedoes and Kazon fighters better than Tom Paris, he boasted, which only served to irritate her further. There'd been a few unkind words about his skill relative to her partner's, at which point his mood all but collapsed and he skulked out of Engineering. He should have known better than to denigrate Tom's skill, though she recognized that her response was out of line. She needed sleep and she needed to not be trapped on this ship with a bunch of disease-laden genocidal idiots.

She dragged her attention back to the bundle of circuitry in front of her and resisted the urge to sink her teeth into it and tear it apart. Instead, she gently unrolled it, respecting the craftwork of whomever had assembled it. The console overlay was soft and pliant, with a fine meshwork of gold-plated connectors visible on the glossy, silicon-infused backing. She ran her fingertips over them, feeling their raised lines play like delicate hairs across her skin. Exceptionally made, she noted in spite of herself. A brilliant piece of work that must have taken months to design and even more to assemble, though she observed with annoyance that the materials were probably taken from the ship's stores. She flipped it over and smoothed it out over the standard shuttlecraft controls. The upper surface was a glittering grey that she recognized as bioneural gel, trapped within thin layers of thermoplastic polymer. There were divisions akin to those on the standard console, but the usual touchpads were absent. She shook her head. Well, that would be odd to work with.

The sound of the shuttlebay doors opening and closing with a mechanical groan alerted her to a visitor. Through the forward window of the shuttle, she saw the blocky figure of commander Chakotay approach with a smile on his face. He slid in beside her and indicated the bioneural gel.

"So, what do you think?"

"For starters, I think it's inappropriate for an ensign to requisition materials for an Engineering project I hadn't approved while running off with my crew for her own personal use."

"About the console, B'Elanna," he said, ignoring her griping.

"It's strange," she said. "I don't know how I feel about putting it into the shuttlecraft. It's a biological component being stuck onto a traditional propulsion system. I doubt that it will work cleanly."

"It does and it will," he assured her. "Ensign Irae knows her science and she's run this by about a dozen engineers to make sure it'll work. The captain has faith in her, but she's leaving it up to you to decide."

B'Elanna snorted and rerolled the console, tucking it between the windshield and the navigation controls with a tap. She crossed her dark brown hands in front of her and leaned her head back.

"Why's the captain wasting time on some below-decks ensign who spends most of her time slopping cells in the dark?"

His eyes and his tone went three shades darker. "Are you questioning the captain's judgment?"

"Not...specifically," she admitted. "It just makes no sense. The captain's concerned with the overall running of the ship. What does it matter that one ensign thinks she's in engineering and wants to ruin one of my shuttlecraft with a pile of blop? Shouldn't I be the final judge of that?"

"What should the captain be spending time on, Lieutenant Torres," he said, wielding her title like a sword. "Should she always devote her resources to Tom, to Seven, to Harry, and to you? Are you afraid that you're somehow going to be replaced?"

"It's not that, Chakotay, and you know it." She concealed the mote of truth. She'd appreciated the deep trust and respect that the captain had accorded her. Their strong bond, though, had weakened when Seven of Nine came on board and, in B'Elanna's mind, usurped the half-Klingon's role. Now, all the time that Janeway had spent tempering and redirecting B'Elanna's energies was devoted to teaching Seven how to be human. She missed the captain, regardless of how much leeway she was accorded to do experiments in Engineering. "It's just odd, that's all."

"Well, it shouldn't be. I've gotten to know Ensign Irae and I've found her to be an excellent scientist whose work shouldn't have been disregarded for this long."

"Why didn't you do something," she said pointedly.

He shifted his bulk in the chair uncomfortably and B'Elanna celebrated a mental triumph at hitting a sore spot. "Because Mileena never asked me too, at least, not recently. I guess she figured that the captain wouldn't be much interested in her research, so she kept her observation to me. I decided that once the shuttlecraft trials had reached an acceptable point, I'd bring them to the captain's attention."

"Hrmph," she replied. "Well, the she's got the captain's attention now. And seriously, Chakotay? A neurological interface with the ship? Is that even feasible without going all Borg again? It's a terrible, terrible plan."

He rubbed the area around his tattoo. "One thing at a time, B'Elanna. Let's concentrate on the less controversial aspects of the ensign's research."

"Speaking of which, where is she," B'Elanna asked snidely.

He tapped his comm. "Computer, locate Ensign Irae."

The bulkhead doors covered the computer's response as the blue-clad scientist entered the shuttlebay and stopped expectantly outside of the shuttlecraft. Both of the senior officers inside slid out and stood in front of them.

"Lieutenant Torres, may I introduce Dnsign Mileena Irae?" The young woman saluted to the Klingon, who returned a floppy version with an eyeroll she hoped no one noticed. With darting black eyes, she appraised the scientist. Ever since Seska's betrayal, B'Elanna had been cautious to look out for unusual features, though of course Seska's disguise was perfect. Still, this was a newcomer to her, at least. The curly black hair and pale brown skin were standard, though the yellow eyes were odd. B'Elanna went through a mental database of races that had that coloring and came up with only a handful, none of which had biological features that matched the slim humanoid in front of her. Had no one noticed?

"Sorry I'm late. We were in Sickbay and lost track of time." She held up a neatly-bandaged arm, then smiled. "The good news is that the captain's approved my surgery, contingent on about three hundred pieces of logistics that we need to push through, not the least of which," she said, nodding respectfully to the Chief Engineer, "is approval from Lieutenant Torres."

Chakotay repeated his admonition to their new guest. "One step at a time, ensign. First, you need to earn the lieutenant's trust regarding the shuttlecraft overlay."

The young woman steeled into a visage of pure scientific determination. "Of course, commander. Lieutenant, may I walk you through it?"

The lieutenant allowed herself a mental groan and went back into the shuttlecraft as Chakotay excused himself. She spent the next thirty minutes attempting to get excited about the circuitry. It was all unnecessary, she thought. Their computers were just fine as is and Baytart wouldn't be getting into a shuttlecraft unless the ship were in serious trouble, at which point the bioneural interface wouldn't save them all. She was so busy mentally dismissing the entire procedure that she didn't notice that the ensign had stopped talking and was now looking at her expectantly.

B'Elanna raised her ridged forehead. "Is there a problem, ensign?"

"I have finished the briefing and I am waiting for your input, Lieutenant," she said smoothly. "Would you like me to go over any component again?"

"That won't be necessary, ensign." Lieutenant Torres slipped out of the shuttlecraft and stretched casually, then sat back down. The ensign's face hadn't changed at all, though her hands were idly running over the soft surface of the console. "To be honest, I'm not sure what you're trying to achieve here."

"Improvement, Lieutenant. We can do so much more with what we have on Voyager. She's an amazing ship, but we barely use the bioneural gel for anything more than simple transmission. We were assigned to Voyager to monitor the gel's performance and expand on it, if we could. That's what I have done. Well, what we have done."

"We meaning..."

"The Daystrom Institute," said the ensign. "But the console was actually built mostly by Doyle, Darby, Powell, Carey, Baytart, and a few others. On their off hours," she added quickly.

"Really," said the Lieutenant, annoyed. "Did you get the components on their off hours, too?"

"The lower interface is composed primarily of pieces of destroyed comm panels and other hardware that was too broken to be reused. I paid for it with replicator rations," she said evenly. "Everything else in here was obtained from the Daystrom's own stores or Neelix. Nothing was stolen or borrowed, Lieutenant. I respect you and Voyager too much for that."

The part of B'Elanna that wasn't livid or frustrated was impressed by the ensign's coolness. Most people would have bristled, but this young woman had just rebuffed any indication of wrongdoing and turned the tables on her. Of course, that last part made the half-Klingon even madder than she was before. She opened her mouth to put the ensign in her place, but instead the young woman tilted her head a little.

"Would you like a full demonstration, Lieutenant, to convey that I haven't wasted your components? If you're not satisfied, I'll give you the console and you can recycle it."

B'Elanna looked around. "I doubt that you're going to take the shuttlecraft to warp while it's inside the ship, correct?"

"It works on things other than propulsion systems," replied the ensign lightly. "It can interface with any console in the shuttlecraft. We can run a sensor demo."

"And how long would that take," the Engineer snapped.

"About 15 minutes for me to install it and then 10 to run the demo."

Torres checked the chronometer. 1352. She just wanted lunch and to be done with this whole mess, but that would be unlikely. So what was 25 more minutes added to her torture?

"Fine."

With experienced fingers, the ensign began to seat the interface on the left command station on the console. For a few minutes, she was silent, letting B'Elanna watch her carefully. There was nothing remarkable about the ensign, she mused, beyond her ideas and her seemingly controlled temper. Maybe that was why the captain found her so interesting. They would be strangely alike in that way. Well, except that the captain could crush the opposition of everyone who stood up against her and this girl was far too reserved to manage that. B'Elanna got out and circled the shuttlebay, watching from afar as the ensign fiddled with the equipment, eventually ducking underneath the console to adjust some wiring. She checked the chronometer. The young woman had been at this for more than ten minutes. Maybe her estimate was wrong. Time to hurry things along."

"Ensign," she called in. "Are you finished yet?"

A series of clanks and a perfectly articulated Klingon curse emanated from the ensign, who sat up quickly and slammed her head into the console. B'Elanna winced in sympathy, then slid back into the shuttlecraft.

Ensign Irae was rubbing her rapidly bruising forehead with her right hand. "Apologies, Lieutenant. The injury is interfering with my dexterity." She flushed. "Also, apologies for the language. Lauren says that problems in engineering are best addressed with Klingon curses. I forget that there are people besides her who can understand them."

B'Elanna smiled in spite of herself. "Well, she's right. There's nothing as satisfying as informing a malfunctioning plasma conduit that it's a _Hu'tegh petaQ baktag_." She twisted her expression slightly. "Though I wonder where Ensign Powell learned her Klingon."

"She's mentioned that she spent some time on a Klingon colony." said the ensign, smoothing down the console top for the last time. "She's not elaborated. Okay, we're ready."

B'Elanna powered the shuttlecraft and watched the interior whir to life. The conventional console lit up in an array of pleasing orange and yellow blocks, while the bioneural gel pulsed and glittered even more than before. The young scientist rested her hands on top of it and looked expectantly at the engineer.

"Pick a series of scans to run and interpret. Choose which sensor array I should use."

B'Elanna raised an eyebrow. "Right, let's do a multiphasic scan, a magneton scan, an internal scan, and a passive high-resolution series. Use the right sensor array to get all the information you can about," she glanced around the shuttlecraft, "well, everything in here."

"Very well."

In tandem the women began their work. B'Elanna let her fingers manipulate the console almost automatically while letting herself peek at what the ensign was doing. The long, pale-brown fingers were resting lightly on the undulating gel's surface, with only tiny muscle twitches suggesting that something was happening. Ensign Irae's eyes were open, but they were focused somewhere far off in the distance. She sat there immobile and unblinking as they ran the four scans together.

Together, that is, until the ensign blinked her eyes a few times and lifted her hands. "Scan complete," she announced. The one uncovered piece of the left navigational console displayed a flurry of numbers and letters that B'Elanna recognized as the scan results. She looked over towards her console, which was still clipping through the internal scan, and back at the output.

"Not possible," she muttered, quickly comparing the output she had already generated with the ones from the ensign. They were perfectly in sync, save the results from the bioneural console that had been extended to an extra decimal place. So not just faster, but also better. She allowed herself to be impressed.

"How does it work, ensign?"

"I can present the entire design schematics, Lieutenants, as well as the relevant personal logs. In brief, the bioneural gel has learned not only my movements and my responses, but also the parameters of the scans themselves. It knows what to do and it can make logical leaps that conventional circuitry can't." She smiled at the half-Klingon. "It's less limited and always ready to learn. I can teach you, if you'd like."

B'Elanna considered her schedule, then shook her head. "As much as I'd like to, I probably can't. However, I will give you permission to try it out on a live test so long as you don't go too far from the ship. Also, you'll need to take this apart afterward if we're passing a shuttlecraft off to the Erato." She paused and gave a half-threatening grin. "Though I doubt whatever Baytart pulls off will compare to Tom."

"Of course, Lieutenant." The ensign's face went smooth once again. "May I ask you a question?"

The Chief Engineer nearly stifled her sigh and tried to compensate with a cough. "Yes, go ahead."

"I know the captain will be bringing the details of my direct bioneural interface before the senior staff tomorrow morning. Your opinion will be the most valued." She stopped and B'Elanna saw the young woman's jaw work beneath her light chestnut skin. "You have the ship's best interest at heart. I would never want to compromise that. I want the opportunity to justify my experiment to you before I present it to the whole staff."

"To sway me," B'Elanna asked suspiciously.

"To give you earlier access so your questions can be more informed. You will need to pick apart the downsides." The young woman pulled out the padd that she had brought into the shuttlebay. "I've uploaded the design schematics, the surgery plan, and preliminary results. I will obey your commands explicitly."

B'Elanna looked briefly at the display, then placed it down next to the gel console. In her copious free time between now and tomorrow, she would look it over. "Of course, ensign." The young woman began to rise and B'Elanna couldn't help herself. Her sense of decorum was as shot as her nerves and, to be honest, she wanted to see if she could get a bit more amusement out of the situation.

"I want to know, though. You have yellow eyes. You are..." She let the question dangle.

"Trill, actually," she said, looking uncomfortable for the first time, much to B'Elanna's glee. "Half-Trill."

"Oh," said B'Elanna. Trill. She knew almost nothing about the Trill, except for that weird parasite thing they had. "Do you hav-"

"No, I don't. Lieutenant," she said, appending the honorific to a slight snappy retort. "Symbionts aren't typically provided to half-breeds. There's a greater risk of rejection, but it's more that the government isn't keen on losing the symbiont to another culture."

B'Elanna knew that tone of voice. It came out of hers whenever she talked about Klingon or Human society and its views of her own half-breed blood. There was a disquiet and a resentment that always walked with her, one that she was glad to have left behind, more or less, in the Alpha Quadrant.

The young woman continued unexpectedly. "And the spots I got removed when I was 21 or so. Let's just say that I had a bitter, rebellious childhood." Her voice wavered. "I regret it, now. At least I could take out the green contacts. Obliterating that-" She snapped back to attention. "Apologies, Lieutenant. I have crossed the line."

"It's...okay, ensign. I think I know a little about what you are going through." She gave a weary smile that was not returned. The blue-clad officer shifted nervously in front of her. "Dismissed." The scientist strode out of the door at a pace just quick enough to imply that she was fleeing.

Alone, B'Elanna ran her palm over the high-set ridges that marked her own mixed lineage. How many times had she wished and longed for them to be sanded down or reabsorbed so she could be "normal"? This young woman had that wish granted, yet she obtained no peace from it. Normalcy had its drawbacks, she supposed. Sighing again, she grabbed the padd and went back to her quarters to grab a little rest.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Janeway adjusted her bright orange biohazard suit to reduce some of its discomfort and failed completely. It was hot and itchy. The oxygen supply smelled stale and the tiny flicks of spittle generated by talking were sticking unattractively to the clear plastic facemask. She wanted nothing more than to turn around the flimsy Erato shuttle and return to the ship for an extended bath, but she suppressed her less kind emotions to focus on the gravity of their task.

Through magic and endurance, B'Elanna had helped the Erato restore more functionality to their shuttle. They'd suggested enough modifications to the Chief Engineer's biohazard suit that she could perform some of the tasks with sufficient manual dexterity to recalibrate the warp drive and keep their inertial dampers from falling apart. Her report to the captain included the desire to donate one of Voyager's shuttles to facilitate the Erato's return to space, which Janeway cautiously approved pending uptake of raw materials from the debris field.

Above her, the looming shape of Voyager threaded through the shattered remnants of satellites and ships, scanning for components that they could salvage. There were some metal fragments large enough to use for some job or another. However, the muttering on the ship was that trash-picking from a civilization that had bombed itself back to pre-spaceflight days was unworthy of a Federation vessel. Janeway herself was uncomfortable with the setup and had given tacit permission to any team who, on their off hours, decided to rebuild a communications satellite and launch it into high orbit.

The mood within the shuttlecraft was jovial and bittersweet. They were to land within secure pavilion and create a shield bubble, then spray the entire area with decontaminant. It would allow them to be the first outsiders on the planet in decades, separated cruelly by the mutations in the plague that could spread another lethal wave of death through either population. Even a simple handshake would be denied to them, yet again.

The shuttle lurched and Janeway felt herself shift to a green that would impress even the politician beside her. He smiled and beckoned her towards him on one of the shallow couches in the shuttle's body.

"I assure you that there are master pilots among our people, as well as ships that aren't held together by fervent hopes and string," he said by way of apology. "Let me continue to distract you with the biology of our people."

Janeway gave a small, controlled smile. "Very well."

After watching so many interactions among the scientists, the Legatus, and the Consul, Janeway had become naturally curious about the stringent caste separations. On Earth, those divisions had been outlawed as barbaric and discriminatory, but to the Erato, they were a way of life. Literally. Each individual was genetically predisposed to one caste or another: warrior, scientist, or artisan, the latter of which technically formed the ruling and governing class. During incubation, the eggs of the Erato imprinted on hatch guardians of the appropriate caste, though computer-aided imprinting was used in emergencies.

He had painted a stunning picture of rainbow-hued chambers filled with small leathery eggs immersed in crystal waters. Through them, men and women in flowing robes would walk every day, letting their essences and their minds turn the developing children within into their future castes. Once hatched, the children remained isolated within their castes, where they were instructed on their individual roles within society. The Consul implied that there were Erato who felt uncomfortable in their caste and who felt that they had been born into the wrong mind. The artisans made re-imprinting available to them, though apparently it was vanishingly rare. Barring those cases, an Erato would live, breathe, and die in his caste without questioning his purpose.

Janeway stood up and stretched, cracking her spine guiltily, then sitting back down. "Predetermination is a concept that humans have always rebelled against. The ability to choose is as natural to us as it is foreign to you."

"You can choose," he said. "A scientist may be a teacher just as a warrior or an artisan may. They may all become farmers. They may all choose to sit in a box on the street and beg." He displayed his rows of razor-sharp teeth. "But ultimately, the scientists are our revered visionaries, the warriors are devoted and beloved protectors, and the artisans our practical and indispensible backbone. From the moment you quicken in your egg, you have a place in society."

Janeway tilted her head forward and looked at her lap. The biohazard suit had bunched up uncomfortably at her knees, causing her to tug her pants down futilely until the fabric wrinkled at her ankles. She smiled wanly at the Consul. "Still, among my species, it is preferred for us to shape our own destinies."

His face took on a knowing expression. "Ah, but captain, you are a leader who has chosen to ignore her science. You have bound yourself by invisible rules. There is nothing in your Federation code that demands your time be spent purely on the bridge instead of pursuing your science. There is nothing in your Federation code that prevents you from mingling freely with your crew. You have made yourself so rigid that the most diligent warrior would be impressed." He shook his head. "It is always so with those who straddle two worlds. They belong to neither and long for both."

He rose and walked over to the front of the shuttlecraft, peering over the shoulder of the pilot and clicking something in his ear. The craft banked slightly and began its descent through the atmosphere. A roaring came up from the protesting shields, but they held against the increasing heat.

Janeway fidgeted again. Independence and self-determination were as close to her heart as exploration and discovery. She could not imagine a world in which she were cloistered in a single mindset. Hadn't she thrown herself into her studies instead of traipsing around in the forest after her sister? Was not the decade of research into six different fields evidence of her diversity? After all, she had pursued her dream of taking a starship's helm instead of laboring in its belly. A small pang of guilt went through her. Quite unlike Mileena, buried away in deck four, who embraced entirely her scientist nature and who seemed at peace with her lot in life. She had fallen so naturally into the Erato's ranks, to the point that they considered her a member of their family, albeit hairier. Janeway wondered if the ensign would stay with the Erato, should a cure be found. A second pang hit, one of longing. She would hate to see the scientist go.

Janeway peered out the windows at the colony during their descent.. Segments of the capital city were still cratered into rubble, though most of the debris had been cleared and likely repurposed. Building facades were missing chunks and only intermittent windows glowed with electricity. The rest were unusually shadowed for this time of day. Jagged-edged farms lined what appeared to be dirt roads outside of the capital; some showed their bounty in shades of emerald and sage, but many were brown or a sickly grey-black from the plague's lingering effects on their cells. Here and there, plumes of smoke emerged from twisted metal structures strung with wires, power plants that probably used a hybrid of nuclear and fossil fuels to keep their cities alive. The colony was hardly derelict, but it showed that typical shabbiness that came with the aftermath of a great war

Short on supplies, the inhabitants inevitably put aside glamour or superficial repairs to keep the infrastructure from collapsing entirely. Mechanical elements break down with little way to repair them without factories and robotics. Simple luxuries, such as holovideos or consistent electricity, are given up in favor of conserving energy. At best, a society in that state would keep from backsliding into an almost pre-industrial state, though it might take a century or more to regain its footing. At worst, its population would be reduced to an agrarian culture, with knowledge that simply could not be used given the limited skills of the population.

Janeway sat back down and pondered the situation. She remembered being stranded by the Kazon on the volcanic planet so many years ago. Transformed into a band of hunter-gatherers, the crew had been reduced to a level of primitive that barely outstripped the native cro-magnon population. How many generations would it have taken Voyager's descendants to rediscover mining and smelting? How many more still to create factories and industry? And even with the raw materials, there were few who used a tricorder that could assemble one out of its most base parts. These Erato were better off, but unless supply lines were reestablished, they wouldn't be for long. And how did the Head Scientist believe that the colonists would be able to perform complex surgery when, from the looks of it, they were having trouble keeping the lights on.

With a jarring thump, the shuttlecraft touched down at the landing site. The mood in the shuttlecraft shifted palpably to one of unbridled excitement. Janeway too found her spirits lifted. She was the first outsider to set foot on these planets in over twenty years. There was always a feeling of anticipation when entering a new world, even one as plague stricken as this. That was why she'd chosen to accompany the delegation rather than send the Doctor. For their part, they wanted to introduce the woman whose crew they had so inconvenienced over the past few days.

"Emitters are functioning and the shield bubble is in place. Decontaminating progressing," said the shuttle pilot. A hissing sound filled the cabin as a mist of deactivating proteins surrounded the craft.

"Sensor readings do not indicate any remaining protein from either strain of infectious agent. We should be clear to exit the shuttle."

With a labored creak, the doors were pushed open and the four Erato onboard walked blinkingly into the brilliant sunlit pavilion. Janeway was frankly impressed, especially in light of the overall decrepit look of the city. The space around her was spotless and gleaming. Colonnades that appeared to be of a marble-like rock flanked the shuttle in a gracious circle. Climbing vines and potted plants intertwined themselves among the columns; a few had flowered to a brilliant purple hue that would rival the most proud morning glory on Earth. Janeway felt as if she'd been transported back to an ancient Roman garden kept by the emperors of old to entertain their visitors.

She took a step forward, lingering behind the Erato and trying to discreetly scan the surroundings with a tricorder. At short range it was more accurate than the ship's sensors, but she agreed with their reading. The surface was currently free of anything that could harm them.

Footsteps on rock alerted her to the arriving of the home delegation. A woman in draped green fabric that resembled the Consul's walked up to the edge of the bubble and bowed graciously. The white and red-clad men next to her did the same. The Erato beside the shuttle returned the gesture. Janeway noticed that the new Erato were unadorned, save a handful of rings that were threaded through their rounded earlobes. Were the charms ceremonial, indicative of rank, or otherwise significant? She'd ask later.

"Brothers and sisters from our home, we welcome you to our colony. It has been so many suns since we have seen your faces." The leader turned to Janeway. "You are the one they call Captain Janeway?"

"I am."

"My name is Arden Theor. I am the Proconsul of the Likel colony. To my left is Gren Hild, the chief scientist of our world, and Rai Warten, a centurion." They gave a deep bow at her words. " I cannot begin to express our gratitude and our welcome to you and your ship. When the day comes that we can mingle with others again, we would invite your people as honored guests on every world we have."

"We wish for that day as well," she said graciously. "I can only hope that the scientists aboard Voyager continue to make progress during our visit. Even if we cannot cure it today, we will give you all we have."

"Of course." The woman smiled her endless rows of tiny teeth. No matter how many times Janeway encountered it she still found the shark-like quality of the Erato's jawline to be ridiculously off-putting. It was a deeply rooted instinct from the prey mammals that eventually evolved into humans. In the wild, the Erato and the warm-blooded creatures around them would have been enemies.

Janeway listened to the groups talk. Supplies were going to be left behind on the colony. Trellium, a rare element found only on the homeworld, was used to build many of their microarrays. With the base metal, the colonists might be able to refabricate some of the more advanced technology that had been conserved so diligently over the past years. Some of the chatter was logistics: how to distribute materials, the current status of ship rebuilding, and latest developments in science. There had been several low-flying satellites launched in the past four months, greatly boosting communications with the other two colonies. Janeway offered to replicate, where possible, components that could not easily be machined on the planet and to provide sample seedlings from hydroponics in the hope that some could be adapted to living on the surface.

There was a certain measure of gossip mixed in. The shuttle pilot had sequestered himself close to the centurion and was exchanging fevered words that became more and more overwrought until he finally cried,

"I cannot take it. Please, Consul. Allow me to stay with my husband. My life is nothing without him. It has been so long. I would die here if it meant touching him one more time."

The talk died instantly and the Consul walked over to the distraught young crewman, who had pressed his hands painfully into the forcefield, vainly trying to touch the man on the other side, who had turned away and was hiding his face in his spindly fingers. The white-clad man had placed his hand on the centurion's back and was whispering something to him. Back near the shuttle, the contact burns began to discolor the pilot's blue-black skin. The Consul gently encircled the weeping young man's shoulders and pulled him backwards a single step towards the shuttle, then pushed him downward into a sitting position on the hull. His manner was not unkind, but it was firm and stringent.

"If it were only your death and his death, I might allow it. We would grieve, but it is the artisan way to pursue love. But you are a danger, Crys, to everything on this planet. Your skin and breath could cause another pandemic."

"We would stay here in the shuttle. The executioner does not kill so quickly that we couldn't have a few hours alone. Then, you could destroy us utterly. Eject us into space. Incinerate us. I don't care."

The Consul looked deeply troubled and turned to the Proconsul, who had lifted her placid yellow head towards the sun.

"Every life on this colony is precious. There are so few of us left. I could not allow such a terrible waste of life, even for love. I know your longing, Crys," she said tenderly. "My husband passed beyond this life in the first weeks of the invasion. At this moment, we cannot be together, and that too is your fate."

Janeway was grateful for the facemask, which concealed her misting eyes from the rest of her companions. Loss was something she knew too keenly. Deaths of crewmembers, dashed hopes for home, the perpetual loneliness that had been somehow doubled by Mark's rejection. All of these, and more, had triggered grief that she had carefully stacked behind her aura of command and allowed to overtake her on rare moments of solitude. The tortuous separation of these two men was almost more than she could bear. The transcendental power of love and longing held cruelly apart by a glowing forcefield ate at her self-control until she almost excused herself back into the shuttle. Instead, she took a bold step forward, as was her true nature.

"I can provide a solution," she stated. "I am willing to take both of you aboard as part of my crew. It would require an extended period of decontamination via the transporter's pattern buffer, but we would be able to purge both strains and let you be together."

The young men gazed at her with unbridled joy, even as she gave her warning. "Once this is done, though, you would never be able to return to your people without risk of dying from reinfection. You would be cut off, perhaps permanently, from your kin and perhaps from this entire quadrant."

The Consul looked equal parts troubled and hopeful. "This is something you would allow, captain, even though it would strain your limited resources? And what of everyone else on the planet who has a bond mate on another world?"

Janeway was firm, though compassionate. "If Voyager could transport the whole of your people, we would. Yet you too recognize that there are priorities. Certainly, your delegation has been afforded the luxury of leaving your homeworld. Let us provide some solace to these two men. In the midst of tragedy, let love be a beacon of hope."

The young men bowed their heads simultaneously. Crys spoke from within the forcefield, tears making dark marks across his blue-black skin. "Captain, there are not words." True enough, he was overcome by his emotions and, once again the Consul put his arms around the suffering young man.

Outside, Gren echoed the sentiment. "I-We cannot thank you for this opportunity enough. And we would be happy to be left with one of the other races in the area. The Erato had trading partners among six races. They would welcome us."

"If there are no other objections," she said gently. The Proconsul and Consul shook their heads in unison.

"It is your choice, captain," said the Proconsul. Janeway couldn't quite read her voice or posture, though she suspected there was an element of jealousy and longing. Even so, she did not protest when the captain paged Voyager.

"Go ahead captain," said Chakotay.

"Chakotay, we are taking aboard two Erato as members of the crew. Put them through unmodified pattern buffers in transporter room two. Do several passes to ensure all elimination of the pathogen, then put them in quarantine in Sickbay."

His voice was puzzled, but unquestioning. "Of course, captain. I'll let the Doctor know and signal when we're ready."

The head scientist, who had stood impassively throughout the emotional exchange, took the opportunity to interrupt. "Captain, I have assembled several teams of surgeons who are excited to assist your crewmember in her transformation." His green eyes went bright with anticipation, which helped Janeway conceal her displeasure at the term. Transformation into what, she wondered as the man continued. "Truth to be told, there were a handful of fistfights that broke out among those who wished to be given the honor."

"I am sure that Ensign Irae would be both concerned and pleased that people had come to blows over her work."

"Who wouldn't," he said, nearly bouncing in his intricately wrapped white garment. "Hybridizing technological and physiological components was cutting-edge among our people. And once we've performed this surgery, we may be able to modify our own-"

"Well, first we need to see if the surgery works and, more importantly, whether the senior staff will allow the ensign to pursue it."

Gren shook his head, his mood clearly dampened. "Forgive my impertinence, but it is so odd that you allow non-scientists to dictate scientific actions. You must trust that they know what is best for her."

"Allowing her access to the most delicate systems on a starship is something that concerns many more than just Mileena. As it is, she's shown remarkably poor judgment when it comes to setting her limits. It must be done."

"As you wish, captain," he said with a bow. "I will beam the specifications to your ship. Should the surgery be approved and the rapid uplink established, we will begin setting up the operating theater for robotic intervention."

"You are very kind. I do wonder how you have managed to keep advanced medical facilities while much of the colony has suffered so."

"Science above all else," declared the Proconsul proudly. "We have no war to fight nor art to create. There is only survival and the search for the cure. Our bounteous scientists are driven to succeed and we must keep their facilities intact."

Janeway expected Gren and Rai to look respectively embarrassed or resentful, but they merely inclined their heads in agreement. They were, after all, programmed to believe this without question. Perhaps the biological caste system had some advantages after all.

"Captain, we're ready," stated Chakotay. She watched the two lovers, apart for so many years, shimmer in and out of phase as the transporter room began the process of cleaning their bodies of the awful toxin within. A few minutes later, the Doctor's voice cut through the silence.

"Sickbay to Janeway," he said with irritation.

"Go ahead."

"The two Erato gentlemen are in Sickbay with no trace of the pathogen. I will administer continuous scans for the next 76 hours. However," he grumped, "I will need to put up some sort of barrier. I cannot allow passionate lovemaking to occur in the middle of my Sickbay. I'm a doctor, not a voyeur."

Her laughter, she guessed, was the least helpful thing she could have responded with.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

With an imprecise jab at the greenish soapstone, Mileena chipped off a large chunk of rock and sent it flying to the floor. It bounced unceremoniously off of the dropcloth and landed underneath the couch with a handful of its compatriots. She let out a sigh of annoyance from behind her facemask and readjusted it across her nose. Mileena brought the hammer down on the chisel again, trying to angle the sharpened metal so the shards of stone dropped directly downwards instead of flying in every direction. Thus far, her attempts had been unsuccessful and she had primarily littered her floor with debris. She took a few more shots at the uneven surface, taking off a few more triangles that were ejected onto her modest collection of knickknacks. A few knocked a flare-topped terra cotta vase onto the couch, where it teetered precariously before deciding to roll off into a heap of fragments.

She let out another audible, long-suffering sigh and wiped one greyish glove across her sweating forehead, smudging a long line of grit and dust through her hairline. She pondered the jagged lump of soapstone in front of her. The good news was that one side had managed to form a reasonable approximately of a flat surface. The bad news was that the other three sides and the top looked like someone had inexpertly taken a hammer to them. Which was a completely accurate description of her activities for the past two hours.

She gently set the worn metal hammer and its companion chisel back on the sculpting table and took a few steps back. If she squinted, she could see the form of a rectangle just beginning to emerge. If she were lucky and worked at it for another few hours, she might achieve a passable first piece. Well, she corrected herself, a passable first piece in who knows how many years. There was a bit of mental calculating and she winced. So, it had been almost 15 years since she last pretended to carve something and twenty some-odd since it was anything worth looking at. She'd never been good, to be honest, but she hadn't generated anything this poor since her first year back in college.

The good part about being on enforced down time was that she had all sorts of empty hours with which to pursue her many discarded hobbies: jet skiing on the blood-red oceans of Qo'Nos, snowshoeing in the Artic, ineptly performing martial arts, and reading tawdry novels that left her unusually hot and bothered. Yes, she was having all sorts of "fun" when she'd much prefer to be up to her eyes in scientific progress.

She slipped off the polymer-lined goggles and put them down next to her tools, stripped off the gloves and apron, and looked around her quarters warily. There was a fine coating of soapstone over every conceivable surface. Her bed, the shelves, the desk, the couch, the end table, the chairs, the altar, her decorations, her...well, pretty much everything. She'd had the forethought to cover the entrance to Mariah's little section of the room with a forcefield. A thin line of dust curved around it gracefully, highlighting the darkened area beyond.

Gingerly, she went back to the sculpting table and released the clamps that were holding the block in place. She heaved it into a foam-lined box, shut the door, and shoved the whole thing under her bunk. Then, she turned herself hopefully towards the body of the room.

"Computer, isolate all particulate soapstone and dematerialize into a recycling buffer."

It beeped depressingly. "Unable to comply. Energy use in crew quarters is rationed."

"Well, so much for that plan," she said. Rifling around in the back of her closet, she dragged out a broom and a container of compressed air. Slipping back on her goggles, gloves, and facemask, she looked around the mess with dismay. It would take several hours. "Computer, play Cleaning Compilation 2." The room filled with loud dance music and Mileena began singing along as she reassembled the room.

She was, therefore, startled to about two feet in the air when her erstwhile roommate came in to visit.

"'Leena," called Mariah Henley from the door. "What the hell did you do to our quarters?"

The sandy-haired helmsman regarded their shared space with a wrinkled, displeased face. She tried to tiptoe through the piles of dust and succeeded primarily in kicking up a few clouds while covering the cuffs of her pants with green-grey particles.

"Sure, come home on the one day that I practice sculpture." Mileena said, then fumbled with a console to turn off the music. "At the moment, I'm cleaning."

"Can't you just...I don't know...do this in the holodeck or something? You know, somewhere that you won't cover every conceivable surface with silt?"

"Mariah, you haven't been back here in almost a month. Let's not pretend you give a crap about my housekeeping." Mileena perched her goggles on her dust-covered hair, threw her hands on her hips, and glared at her roommate.

"Hrmph," was the only reply. The crewman nearly collided with the forcefield around her bunk. At Mileena's deactivation, Henley breezed in and collected a few stray dresses and outfits from her almost empty closet. With an eyeroll, she dragged a canvas bag out from her bunk and carefully folded the clothes within, then made a great show of zippering up the bag to seal out the dust.

"So things with Kenny are going extremely well, I take it." Mileena went over to the couch and flopped down on its stone-encrusted surface. She idly played with the fragments of her shattered pottery. She might be able to reassemble it with some glue, though she never remembered liking it much. She tossed it into the recycler and put her head back on the window ledge.

"You could say that," said Mariah, breaking into a smile for the first time since she came back. "We're putting in the transfer request for me to move in with him. You'll be able to take over the whole room and cover every surface with your damn dirt if you'd like."

The scientist considered this with a frown. She and Mariah had never been best friends, but she had enjoyed the camaraderie that came from sharing a small space with another woman. They'd never gotten in each other's way. Indeed, for a time, they had made a habit of dining together or playing logic games on the couch in their rare concurrent off hours. Then, Mariah had embarked on her relationship with Kenneth Dalby and had begun spending more and more hours cuddled up in his more-spacious cabin than in their little room. Mileena had kept Mariah's side clean out of respect, but as Mariah brought her belongings out to Ken's cabin, Mileena had filled the space. It felt too empty otherwise.

"Well, I am going to miss you," admitted Mileena. "Don't forget to write from time to time." She forced a smile.

"Ah, don't be like that. You can always come have dinner with Kenny and me. Hey, you could even bring Pablo." A look of mischief spread across her ruddy face. "I've heard the chatter about you and him. Working late nights on the shuttlecraft. Sharing your scientific secrets. Steering hi-"

"Oh lord, no," said Mileena, covering her face with one gritty palm. "He's a lovely boy, but I just couldn't see putting up with his ego any more than absolutely necessary."

"Well, rumor has it that he'll be making his move when the captain approves the shuttlecraft demo. A celebratory dinner. A nice, intimate setting at the Sandrine..."

Mileena kept from hurling another fragment of terra cotta at her ex-roommate's legs. "No. Just...no. Anyway, will you tell me when I can finally take over that side of the room. Assuming, of course, that someone isn't taken out of the shared quarters and plopped in here."

"To be honest, I doubt it. So many in the crew are pairing off that quarters are naturally doubling up. Or tripling, if you believe the story about the Delaney sisters." They both snorted. "I think you'll get to enjoy your space until you find a nice warm body to share it with."

Mariah waved and left the room, her bag in tow. Mileena sat alone, again. She'd not minded it just a few minutes before she was cleaning. Now that she'd had that brief bit of contact, she was encased with loneliness. It was so lovely to have the Erato in her lab and to be spending her duty hours with Pedro or Seven of Nine. She had those lunches with Lauren and the occasional party, but she'd developed a sadly solitary existence.

She let her eyes drift closed and her thoughts turn once again towards her lovely captain. Somewhere along the way, she'd begun noticing the captain's body language: how her tiny frame angled itself towards Mileena. The way she touched her hair and rubbed her neck when she was stressed. The light frown lines on her pale forehead and the thin creases on the edge of her mouth when she smiled. The way her voice could silence a room without going above a whisper. Her poise, her confidence, her brilliance in debate and negotiation.

Mileena ran her fingertips over one shoulder. The captain was noticeably more physical with her than with other ensigns. Of this, Mileena had become strangely aware. That or observer bias was making her see things that weren't there. But there was a connection, wasn't there? All these preparations being made for her when she knew that Alice had been begging Chakotay for some extra space for almost as long as Mileena had been begging him for personnel. There was something there. There just had to be.

But if there were a connection, wouldn't the captain be hesitant? She was heterosexual, she was a half-decade younger than Mileena, she was a superior officer. Maybe she'd find the ensign to be too boring or too little of a challenge. Maybe she'd be disgusted. And even if the captain were interested, how the hell would Mileena find a way to kiss someone who she still had trouble talking with in a normal conversation?

Mileena re-derailed herself. There would be a briefing tomorrow among the senior staff about the direct-interface surgery. She'd need to prepare and then somehow convince the upper hierarchy to allow her risky endeavor. And that meant getting permission to work.

She reached a dusty palm over to a console and tapped it flatly. "Ensign Irae to Seven of Nine."

"I am here. Go ahead," came the monotone reply.

"Seven, I'd like to go over my presentation tomorrow, if you would allow me. It would be preferable if you or another scientist were there to check my work."

"That is acceptable. We should go to proteomics at 22:00 hours to ensure all the equipment is working. Before that time, however, you must remain off-duty."

"Yes, of course. Irae out." The comm clicked dead and Mileena rolled her neck a few times. She stood once again, triggered her music, and went back to cleaning and singing. Luckily, she'd be busy enough to keep her roiling mind at bay.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Proteomics was more crowded than it had ever been in its limited existence. Between the piles of foreign equipment, the five Erato scientists, the captain, the commander, Seven of Nine, Lieutenant Torres, Tuvok, and Lieutenant Paris for some reason, there was barely any room to maneuver the bioneural console from behind its forcefield. They clustered around her standing form as she gave the most important presentation of her life. Gods willing, it would go a thousand times better than the second most important presentation, though there were only one or two ways it could technically go worse without her dying midway through.

She looked at the assembly of neutral to grim expressions and flicked her eyes to Chakotay's, then to Jelay's for a bit of encouragement. They both nodded imperceptibly. She adjusted her eyes once again to meet the captain's, but found only stony patience where she'd hope to find some sort of emotion or acceptance. Under the circumstances, the blankness was unsurprising, but still disheartening.

Years of standing in front of people who didn't want to give her what she wanted had prepared her for this moment and for all moments like it. At this point, the words were completely automatic, so she focused on the subtleties gleaned from instruction and experience.

_Work the room, but never let them see you work it. Measure your voice and modulate your breaths so that your sentences are flowing. Don't answer questions they're not going to ask. Listen with your body as well as your ears. Appeal to your audience: safety for Tuvok, function for Torres, excitement for Paris, complexity for Seven, assurance for Chakotay, and everything and anything for the captain. Confidence, brilliance, attention. Pour yourself into her eyes and mind. For her to believe you, she must believe in you. _

The scientist's mind stopped her mouth and she asked for questions. Unsurprisingly, the first came from Tuvok.

"It is concerning that most of your safety protocols result in your death and the destruction of your lab. Are there no better ways to accomplish this?"

_Look him in the eye. Nod slowly. Lay out the simplicity of the idea and let Torres debate the particulars. That will give her control. _

"There are, but they require more reconfiguring of the hardware around proteomics. There would need to be isolation bulkheads around the primary bioneural uplink, much like the breakers for the direct interface. The Doctor can also install a secondary neural shutoff that would automatically short the contacts if they become overactive."

_Don't explain how your death is better than losing the ship, even if it's true and Chakotay has heard it. Let him think you're being overcautious and not that it is so tempting to let go sometimes. He is satisfied. Handle the finer points and indicate that you are open to his suggestions_.

Lieutenant Torres crossed her hands across her wiry body and addressed her fellow senior staff. "The main problem I have is turning over partial control of the ship's wiring to someone's brain, especially someone who has limited engineering training. What's to keep you from accidentally shorting out the warp drive when you're trying to readjust helm control?"

_Don't bristle. Don't tell her the hours you spent rewiring an aging freighter that gave you just enough knowledge not to accidentally destroy a propulsion system. Don't make it personal_. "The interface was created with cutoffs in the software. It has full access to the supercomputer's processor by deliberate design, but beyond that, it is restricted to modulations on a systemic basis. Limits could be placed on the interface's ability to interact directly with all systems on the ship. As it stands, most vital functions, such as control of the warp engines or life support, are not available to me." _She's not buying it. The technology isn't her concern. Divulge, a little._

"The interface has a different way of approaching the circuitry. Because it connects directly to my nervous system, I receive a certain amount of feedback." _Nope, still not working. Accept, now, that you're going to have to veer off course. _"The ship, for lack of a better term, has opinions. It is receiving direct input from locations and authorizations that it recognizes as superior. I can give it commands, but they must not override the primary instructions unless the computer comprehends that something is wrong."

"Wait, you're talking to the ship," said Paris, his boyish face almost agleam as Torres' scowled even more. The rest of the room, save the Erato, wore faces of either concerned skepticism or genetically and technologically enhanced blankness. As for her de facto lab group, most of them were attempting not to fall over in annoyance at the crew's resistance to her ideas. Jelay, though, was shifting to a darker orange, one Mileena had come to see as warning.

"In a manner of speaking." _Metaphysical time, with Paris. _"When you are flying or driving, the ship feels like an extension of your form." _Good, that pleased him. _"The interface allows that feeling to be a reality. It's like having an extra sense. It's not quite seeing or hearing so much as knowing. Instead of hearing a vibration that lets you know that the power coupling on the docking clamp is beginning to overheat, you know it is, faster than you can hear."

"Fascinating," he said. "So if I were to fly the ship through the interface, it would be like moving my own arms? That sounds incredible." _Allow the smile, Mileena, but keep it from being smug, but don't make the offer. Let someone else do it._

The captain looked at her staff and then back at the ensign, speaking for the first time since they entered. "If there are no other questions, why don't you begin the demonstration?" And now, the fun and beautiful and terrifying part.

The dark-haired scientist suddenly recognized a problem. "I typically run the direct console with a barrier between myself and the rest of proteomics. Decontamination and safety are both increased in that way." _Damn, don't explain._ "Under the circumstances, that would seem to create issues of space."

"We'll make do." Thank you, thank you Chakotay. They'll listen.

Mileena sat down at her console, rolled back her sleeves, and began to set up the safety protocols, explaining as she went. "This is the more rudimentary variant. The ports would provide even finer control without some of the more obvious drawbacks."

The console roiled and undulated under her fingertips, sensing her rapid heartbeat and increased pulse. The gel knew, in its automaton way, that something different was happening. She set the gain at 20% in the hopes of maintaining enough external control to communicate effectively. It was barely enough to keep the screaming of the computer from overwhelming her at the first connection.

"Drawbacks, such as," queried Torres, but her answer came quickly as the console engaged the ensign.

_Don't flinch, Mileena. The pain is so fleeting. Don't let them see you suffer. Don't let them pity you, even for a second...Dammit._

"Wait, you just stabbed yourself with the computer? Who the hell thought that was a safe or a good idea? Absolutely not," gestured Torres.

"It is an inefficient interface," concurred Seven of Nine, "which is why we are in the process of replacing it. The ports will accelerate our progress until fully external hardware is completely available." Her porcelain face frowned towards the captain. "This is greatly complicated by the lengths to which we are going to avoid emulating Borg technology."

"And yet, Seven," said the captain with an air of finality. Mileena turned her head a little as the endorphins began to dull and then erase the pain. The captain's blue-grey eyes never left her body. Her lips were twitching around the edges, a sentence suppressed most likely.

Mileena closed her eyes again and let the computer wash through her. The adrenaline in her system and her heightened physiological arousal made the connection stronger than she had anticipated. The colors and sounds sang through her and the room dimmed. _Keep it here...so...bea-no. NO._

"Gain. 5%," she said quietly. "Incremental 2% per five seconds thereafter, cap at 60%."

The crashing in her head subsided and she kept herself above the noise. That wouldn't last too long, but by then, she'd be relying on Seven of Nine to do the talking for her. "The initial junction is transiently painful, yes, which is one of the main reasons that the ports are preferable. Speed, connectivity, and ease of use are more important."

"But it is unacceptable for Ensign Irae to continue damaging herself in the service of the ship," concluded Chakotay. "She has assured me that she will cease use of the direct console whatever our decision.

Mileena needed neither her eyes nor her direct connection to perceive Torres' discontent. In the presence of so many otherwise neutral faces, though, she was holding her comments back. Instead, Seven of Nine began to walk them through the paces. The Borg had agreed that she should be the one to do the talking when Mileena was interfacing with the console for fear that the ensign would get lost in her own thoughts. The cool-eyed Borg gave instructions on tasks to perform: monitoring predetermined systems, transforming proteins, running equations, moving the robotic arm, reconfiguring the barriers, and demonstrating a quick fighter simulation on one of the extra screens.

She had moved past caring, though. The tasks were as simple as breathing. She longed for a true challenge, but none could come without further permission. It was exceptionally disappointing. Idly, she pushed the supercomputer faster, allowing it to offload some of its processing into her brain and teaching the gel within how to synapse in just that way. They were talking. Were they talking about her?

A jagged blue voice wandered through her eyes. "Why isn't she responding to us," was said, as if it were under water and floating away. Yes, they were. She breathed in and unwound herself from the computer. It wanted her to stay. She wanted to stay, but they wanted her out there.

"It's...hard to explain," she said, struggling for the words. How far down had she gone? "Disengage." She took two breaths and the fog lifted, leaving her nothing more than a woman attached to a machine. The gel retracted along with the needles. Without acknowledging the rest of the room, she placed her arms on the awaiting bandages and sealed them into place. The Doctor had prepared a set of absorbent gloves that would keep her from needing to re-wrap herself in the middle of the demonstration. She sprayed down the console with disinfectant and then turned around.

There was nothing but shock on the faces in front of her. This was rapidly approaching unsalvageable. Her eyes were naturally drawn to the captain, who considered her in turn. Mileena wanted nothing more than to stand there, enraptured, but she had to continue.

"The computer is sending me its input, which is much stronger than that of my eyes and ears. I'm still thinking and aware, but dulled to the outside."

"I assume that will occur even more deeply with the direct ports," stated Tuvok. "It seems unwise to lose yourself in the machinery."

"Built into the cranial implant is a system that will monitor my neural outputs and break the connection if my cortical function becomes unstable. Having someone nearby or other compelling stimuli, such as a particular set of songs, keeps me more conscious," she answered. "The external devices will lessen the effect even more, as the feedback will be restricted to particular brain areas."

"Yet in the meantime, you will be initiating a deep trance whenever you do your work. That seems exceptionally unwise. What if something goes wrong with the ship and disrupts your conscious state? Are you suggestible from outside influences?"

"In the first case, I would experience disorientation for a time, but I will recover. We have tested this."

She paused. "External influences are only powerful if there is a strong connection. A Kazon infiltrator, if he could bypass the security protocols on the lab, would be able to do little other than injure me. Manipulation of any sort requires a familiarity, at which point the computer would automatically weigh my input against its knowledge." Again Mileena found her eyes towards the captain. Wouldn't it be wonderful to hear the auburn-haired woman's voice wrapping around her consciousness?

"So if the captain or I came in and ordered you to initiate the self-destruct sequence, you would do it," said Chakotay warily.

"Commander, if you were to ask me to do it right now, without any connection to the computer, I would initiate self-destruct after checking with any available senior staff. That is my duty. The interface wouldn't change that." He seemed satisfied and turned to Tuvok, who appeared to have backed off his questioning. Mileena elected to pursue the topic a hair farther.

"You can also implement software triggers and lockouts. Even if I were able to bypass them, the computer and I would turn back. We could also arrange for an accidental or deliberate crossover to trigger the break command, which would sever the connection at my end."

"Break command," queried the captain. "You've never shown me that one. It's not another forcefield decapitation program, is it?"

A small chill passed through Mileena. Of all the non-lethal fail-safes, the break was her least favorite, and not just because it destroyed some of the equipment. It took days for her to reintegrate the connections in her fingertips once they'd been ripped off. There was just something so unnatural about it and she swore that the computer was angry at her whenever she used it.

"No. It's a non-lethal physical ejection from the system." _Give them the option; hope they don't take it_. "I can provide a demonstration, though I will require time to repair the components afterward."

The captain turned to the assembled faces. Torres and Tuvok indicated to the captain that they'd like to see one of the available security protocols.

Mileena gazed up at the captain and tried to erase the pleading look from her amber eyes. The captain either did not or chose not to acknowledge it and Mileena consented.

"Would you prefer to see the automatic or cued version of the command?"

"Automatic," insisted Torres. "I assume no one will be in here monitoring you most of the time. I need to see just how quickly we can get you out."

_Still the tremors as much as you can. A deep breath, now. It will be awful, but just for a little while_. "Yes, Lieutenant. For the automatic protocol, I will need to engage the interface at full power and attempt to cross over a physiological or technological barrier." She gave the lieutenant her full attention. "Where should I try to go?"

Torres pondered for a moment. "Try to override the plasma containment field." The half-Klingon's posture went rigid. "If the break doesn't work, it's something we can control manually from engineering."

"Of course, Lieutenant."

Mileena gingerly place the absorbent gloves back on the countertop and eased her oozing arms back on top of the console. The secondary joining was not as painful, thanks to the endorphins still coursing through her veins. Mentally, she apologized to the computer for the damage she was about to inflict on both of them.

"Lieutenant, please tell me when you're ready to being."

"Torres to Engineering. Monitor the plasma containment unit for any possible power fluctuations or unusual commands. We're conducting a test."

"Yes sir," came Doyle's reply.

_Please, make it less terrible_.

"Computer, engage console, optimal gain."

With that, Mileena was lost. The computer roared like wind and water through her mind. The room and its inhabitants vanished until it was just her among the circuits and systems. Their voices were tiny blobs of color and harmony. She rode the waves of the interface until she could feel the connections with the bioneural gel outside of the room. Like a bolt of electricity, she leapt from one to the other until she found the connections that swam through Engineering and enveloped the command structure of the warp engines. There in an access panel was the gel pack that fed into the console affixed to the warp drive. She read its synapses and tried to trigger it so that the containment unit would go offline.

The first resistance she felt was the computer itself balking. There wasn't any reason for this to happen. The captain, the commander, Tuvok, and Torres were all silent. It had no damage. There was no red alert. These bits of confused data flitted through her consciousness and she hesitated. Maybe she could imagine the break for the onlookers rather than actually doing it? No, that wouldn't be sufficient.

She overrode the computer's resistance and forced the bag to fire. Except, before it did she felt, and dimly heard, the computer shut her down.

"Bioneural console pathway breech in progress. Break protocol active."

A small bolt of electricity jarred her and she heard the connections to her arms snap. The console gel retracted and tore away the skin at her fingertips, then shorted its primary power conduits. Suddenly, the room was too bright and too loud. A sensation of disconnection as loud as a scream echoed through her mind, the side effect of the synapses being shredded. Or maybe that was her own voice as the pain radiated throughout her body. Her breath happened in tiny gasps and sweat had sprung out from her brow. She instinctively went to rub her head and noticed that blood was running down her arms and fingertips. More than that. The skin had been burned almost completely away, to the point that she couldn't feel it anymore.

She wanted to rise, but couldn't. Somehow, her mind couldn't find the pathway between her legs and her spinal cord. However, words could still be formed, so she could manage a single comment, "This concludes the safety demonstration," before passing out.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

To say that all hell broke loose shortly thereafter was an understatement. It took the assembly a few seconds to comprehend what had just happened. The sudden smoke and sparks from the base of the console had been startling, as had the insertion apparatus' sudden clipping of the needles. More unsettling had been the visible blue electricity that had enveloped the ensign and, with a sizzle, seared away the skin at her fingertips. The gel's surface flashed red and then went grey and flat. Somewhere from that ruin, they heard her end the demonstration, followed by her small body suddenly keeling over onto the floor.

"A little disorientation is a bit of an understatement," said Janeway, annoyance flooding her bearing. She tapped her comm. "Janeway to Sickbay."

"I am here, captain. What can I do for you?"

"I have a medical emergency in proteomics."

"Of course you do. The ensign used the break command. It sends an automatic signal to me as well a-"

"Leena? Leena?" A stampede of anxious feet sounded outside of proteomics. The gathering of officers and scientists turned towards the opening doors, watching as the tumbling forms of Ensign Powell and Ensign Soohoo spilled inside. Soohoo was clutching a medkit and Powell a hyperspanner.

"Ensigns," said Chakotay quizzically. "I take it that the break command sends an alert to you as well."

The short yellow-toned woman and her barely taller white-skinned counterpart froze behind their collective superiors.

"Yes sir," squeaked Ensign Soohoo. "It represents a failure of the bioneural console's protocols, which means that she and the ship could be in danger. If no red alert is in progress, we come here."

The comm channel opened above them. "Dalby to Soohoo or Powell. I'm running a level two diagnostic on the Engineering bioneural gel packs. There was unusual activity right before the break. We need to notify Lieutenant Torres immediately."

Torres clicked her communicator in turn. "That won't be necessary, Dalby. I am monitoring the situation from here. I appreciate your diligence," she said, in a tone that implied anything but.

"Yes sir," he said, mortification coloring his sign-off.

"Is there anyone who doesn't get personal message whenever she does this," asked the captain dryly.

"No, captain," said Powell nervously. "I mean, yes. I mean, the bridge crew isn't notified unless we're all disabled somehow." She looked expectantly at the assembly and started realizing what had just happened. "If there's a break, the system produces an instantaneous dump of all bioneural gel functioning for the five minutes prior. We locate the unusual activity and notify our superiors if anything is awry. That's never happened, of course, because all the breaks have been triggered or just practice."

"I see," said Chakotay. "It's quite the system."

"If Mil-Ensign Irae is one thing, sir, it's redundant. And careful," stammered Soohoo, who inched forward. "May I attend to her, sir?"

"You can drop the forcefields," he said, puzzlement on his face again.

"Yes," they answered simultaneously.

"Be my guest," said the captain, and the two women moved forward.

"Post-break forcefield drop on my command, Soohoo delta two nine alpha." The glowing blue faded away and the young xenobiologist knelt over her friend, muttering with annoyance. She took out a hypospray and administered it to Mileena, who groaned and tried to sit up.

"Stay still," ordered Soohoo. "You're post-break. Give yourself another few seconds of lying on the floor like an idiot-"

"Ensign," said the captain sharply. "Watch your language."

"Yes ma'am. Sorry ma'am."

Mileena blinked her hazy yellow eyes a few more times, then eased herself to standing, leaning slightly on her friend for help. She was obviously trying to maintain some sort of scientific decorum even if she was still bleeding and obviously barely conscious.

"It's dramatic, but it's effe-ct-ti-tive."

Torres tapped her comm badge again. "Engineering, what is the status of the plasma containment unit?"

"No change, Lieutenant. However, Dalby alerted me to an increase in bioneural synaptic activity for approximately 22 milliseconds."

"Break registers in under a second, Lieutenant. It will be even shorter with the direct port interface. All that will require is severing the wiring and not physically removing my hands from the gel," said the ensign, attempting to wrest some control of the situation from the dramatic and bloody interruption.

"I see," said the darkly serious lieutenant.

"I am sorry for interrupting the demonstration. May I be excused to Sickbay," the half-Trill almost begged.

"Of course. Dismissed," said the captain, watching the two ensigns affectionately yet scoldingly drag their friend out of the room. Chakotay excused himself to accompany them, presumably to get more information and to administer a reprimand of his own.

The door slid closed and Jelay gave her opinion. "It is rare for someone to have considered so many angles before engaging in their scientific pursuits. And for once, your ensign has chosen the least dangerous and least destructive manner of doing so."

The captain ignored the Erato scientist and instead turned to her Chief Engineer.

"B'Elanna, what do you think?"

"Well, it's crazy," she said, but there wasn't any anger in her voice. "On the other hand, she managed to activate an isolated neural gel pack in engineering in under three seconds and get shut down less than a second after trying to sabotage it. It's...really fascinating, captain. I'd want her monitored closely, but my inclination is to let her try it."

"Tuvok," said Janeway.

"It is dangerous both to her and the ship. However," he said, inclining his head towards his captain, "it is not unusual for scientists to take extreme risks in search of progress."

"And hey," said Paris with a wry smile, "it isn't like she's breaking the warp 10 barrier, leading to her evolution into a lizard and, er." He cut off the rest of the sentence due to the combined heat of everyone's annoyed gazes. "We'll just pretend that didn't happen."

"Seven," asked Janeway. "Has your assessment changed during any of this?"

"No, captain," she said coolly. "Everything in today's demonstration was within accepted parameters. It is your choice."

Janeway looked at the console, which bore traces of blood and gel. The diligent scientist hadn't done her usual sterilization routine and Janeway felt almost compelled to do it for her. Still, absent any sort of unusual blood-borne pathogen coursing through the ensign's body, the room was presumably in no more danger from Mileena than from the Erato. On the other hand, it was a duty station.

"Seven, would you mind initiating the clean-up and sterilization protocols for proteomics? Also, it will probably need repairs.

The Borg expressed consternation, but did not contradict her captain's request. She appraised the proteomics disaster. "It will require about four hours to rewire the bioneural console, but that can only be accomplished after cleaning." She solemnly returned to the captain's face. "I will require a mop."

The ripple of laughter signaled the termination of the demonstration and the entirety of the room, save the quiet Erato, left into the hallway. The five scientists looked at each other with unbridled pleasure.

"She did it," crowed Zenmay. "Praise every moon and every sun." They exchanged affectionate gestures and then returned to their briefly disrupted work. It had been a most eventful hour.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

_Chief Medical Officer's Log, Stardate (whatever the hell it is…just roll with it). The captain has given me permission to conduct an extremely intricate and highly experimental surgery on Ensign Irae. Of course, for a hologram of my skill, it will pose only a moderate challenge. I am, however, intrigued by the opportunity to perform surgery with a physically present and remote team of doctors. It will be an enlightening experience for all_.

The Doctor paced around his Sickbay, cross-checking all of the biological forcefields around what had become his operating theater. He liked the sound of that. Operating theater. With few exceptions, he had been triaging people on biobeds. There was rarely the opportunity for in-depth surgical exploration, let alone that assisted by the advanced robotic instruments positioned around the surgical table. He, of course, would be performing the deft manual manipulations while the Erato concentrated on retracting tissue and clearing paths around the nerves and skin for him to work. Even though Mr. Kim had managed to reduce the uplink delay between the planet and the ship, there was still the worry of a sudden communications jitter causing irreparable neural damage.

He and the Erato had managed a few hours of practice with the robotic interface. They were aware that Voyager wished to leave orbit in the next thirty-six hours, which cut the time for the surgery closer than he would have preferred. As it was, they estimated that it would take almost eighteen hours to perform the wiring and initial bioneural gel couplings. They had managed to talk both Seven of Nine and Ensign Irae out of performing a series of electrocutions as part of the procedure. However, that meant slowly coaxing synaptic growth out of the ensign's neurons onto the ports, lengthening the surgery time by almost 22%.

"Doctor," Mileena said, interrupting his preparation, "I have finished infusing the last bag of stem cell supplements. The dermal regenerators should function normally. I've also passed the implants through their last set of checks."

His patient sat impatiently within the forcefields, clad only in a white shift that highlighted her pale ochre skin and black curly hair. There had been the contentious discussion of when he would be forced to shave it off. The Doctor thought it was an extremely trivial piece of worry, especially in light of some non-zero chance of death or disability, but had relented and said that he would remove the hair once she was unconscious. Other than that, he noted with pleasure, the ensign seemed completely unperturbed by the surgery. Rather, she seemed energized, perhaps elated, by the prospect of being operated on. That was good, he reflected. It was always unpleasant to calm down a nervous patient.

He walked over to the blackened area of Sickbay that contained the two "cleaned" Erato soldiers. Their joyful reunion had been overwhelming in its voraciousness and volume, enough so that he had erected a light- and sound-blocking forcefield. His brief encounter with Denaara had taught him about love and separation. However, he would have been happier had the young men rekindled their relationship somewhere other than his Sickbay. He ran the tricorder over the surface, ignored the increased heart and breathing rates, and confirmed once again that the pathogen was at undetectable levels.

Much to his surprise, the captain strode into his Sickbay. "Well, is everything prepared," she said with a smile.

"Yes, captain," he said. "The Erato are awaiting my command to beam aboard the ship."

"By all means," she said with false deference. He gave her a look of brief consternation.

"Sickbay to transporter room two. Prepare to beam up the Erato doctors when they are ready."

"Acknowledged, sir." Ah, yes, the irrepressible Ensign Powell. She had come into his care on multiple occasions, usually because she preferred to engage in holodeck sparring matches with the safeties off. Her rationale was that they were going to fail anyway, so she'd best be prepared. That somehow didn't make treating her weekly broken ribs any more enjoyable.

The captain stopped outside the edge of the forcefield and inquired, "Are you ready, ensign?"

"Very much so, captain." The grin on the half-Trill's face was so wide that the Doctor worried she might strain her _auricularis superior_ in the process.

"Nervous at all," said the formidable woman. Her red uniform and light red hair made a striking, fascinating contrast between her and the scientist on the biobed. He would have to debate the play of red, white, and black in one of his next novels, perhaps looking at it from a lyrical point of view.

"Not in the least. This is the epitome of science. The unknown." The ensign was practically trembling with anticipation. The captain went to reply, but was interrupted by the intercom.

"Surgical team to the Voyager Doctor. We are ready to come aboard," said the disembodied Erato.

"Energizing."

Two Erato, sealed completely in white biohazard suits, appeared on either side of Mileena. They bowed low to her, then even lower to the Doctor and captain.

"Captain, may I present Chief Surgeon Lawr Ro and Nurse Clem Oret." He realized that he could not tell who was who behind the face-obscuring masks. The concealment was so complete that a historical Venetian doctor's mask would have added no extra coverage.

"Captain. Doctor. This opportunity honors us, as does your ship. May we also present our team on the planet?"

Two large screens lit up on either side of the apparatus. On it, clusters of doctors, nurses, assistants, and scientists gazed expectantly at their comrades on the ship.

"Will they all be operating on the ensign," said the captain with a tilted eyebrow.

"Only Doctors Sur Wren, Val Mas, and Keft Tir. The rest of our team is here to observe and ask questions. If you don't mind, of course, Doctor," said Doctor Ro. "We are eager to partake of your medical knowledge and to witness this once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. Would you allow us to do so?"

"Of course," he said with a smile. It was good to be appreciated by a large group of scientific professionals who clearly respected his prowess.

"Very well." They turned towards the ensign, who was beaming at the screens. The Doctor watched as, oddly enough, the two Erato took the woman's hands then extended their open palms towards the waiting Doctor.

"It is our custom," said one of them, "to symbolically place her life in our hands. Would you like to be involved?"

The Doctor declined. "That is not necessary. The ensign trusts me implicitly. No ceremony is required."

"There is no one else who I would allow to perform this surgery," she said with a smile. Then, she hesitated. "Captain, may I ask you to participate as well? It is only by your permission that this can happen. I have put my life in your hands as your crewmember. I would...I would like to acknowledge that."

To the Doctor's renewed surprise, the captain approached the forcefield. "Doctor, put a secondary forcefield around me and allow me into the surgical area."

"Captain, I must protest." However, he recognized that tone of voice and, with a stifled sigh, obeyed her command.

She walked over to the surgical bed and the Erato rearranged, allowing the captain to take the ensign's hand in hers. Curious, he noted. Both the captain's and the ensign's heart rates increased by 30% when that occurred. He logically attributed it to the young woman's decreased skin temperature being compensated for by extra circulation in the captain's distal capillaries. The Erato joined the circle and they all bowed their heads.

"It is through time and training that we are brought here. It is through skill and expertise that we will see this through. Please, give us the honor of your trust in the work of our hands"

The ensign lifted her head and turned to the screens, the two Erato, and finally to the captain, with whom she locked gazes. Her eyes and voice never wavered as she said, "My life is yours."

With that, the Erato snapped to perfect professionalism. "Captain, thank you for participating. We must now sterilize the area and retest the uplink one more time. Doctor, would you join us please?"

With a quick shuffling of forcefields to accommodate the retreating captain and the Doctor's mobile emitters, he appeared at the ensign's bedside.

She slowly lay down and smiled.

"How remarkable," was the last thing she said before the neural emitters rendered her unconscious.

In his tremendously eventful life onboard Voyager, the Doctor had overseen both birth and death. He had reconfigured Borg nanoprobes and cured plagues. Innovation was his knack and joy. What he had not experienced until this moment was operating in the presence of multiple like-minded individuals rather than, say, being an unwilling participant in a Vidiian-led lung transplant. He found that he enjoyed it immensely, so much so that he wished he could find an expedient cure for the plague and bring some Erato aboard as his personal staff.

The scientific and professional banter surrounding the operation was refreshing. He didn't need to walk anyone through a procedure or whisk a hypospray away from someone who was about to give himself an eyeful of a diuretic. They followed his instructions to the letter. The far-off observers, when they noticed him performing an unusual technique, would eagerly clamor for his rationale and thought process. Yet they would not hurry him for an answer, unlike certain senior officers who would have hovered around his scalpel until he gave a response.

The Erato were exceptional doctors in their own right, to the point that he revised his initial assessment of their role. While he had considered them to be adjuncts to his surgery, he now tried to include them more fully, especially since their accidental suggestions were quite helpful. For example, Dr. Ro had been impressed by the Doctor's daringness in preparing to implant the leading edge of cortical stimulator on top of the supplementary motor area instead of just the primary motor area.

"This would lead to a threefold increase of connectivity without the chance of paralysis. A brilliant move, Doctor," he had noted.

"Well yes, of course," the Doctor had said, not looking up from the ensign's partially exposed brain. He did not reveal that the surgical technique he had actually been preparing was just the opposite.

The robotic arms whirred and clacked alongside the instructions of both doctors to Nurse Oret. The lanky Erato was fielding orders from both sides of the ensign without hesitation, placing laser scalpels and microemitters in the hands of the surgeons by the end of their requests. His pleasant demeanor and scrupulous regard for safety were a welcome change from the downright lackadaisical attitude from Mr. Paris.

The Doctor checked the exposed surface of the ensign's brain, clicked the last retractor into place, and looked up dramatically at the room. "I am ready to begin the implantation of the cortical transmitters. Nurse Oret, if you could assist me."

The fissured, pale pink surface of the ensign's brain pulsed in time with her steady breathing. Every time he encountered a living brain, he was filled with a sense of awe at how a mere dense connection of cells could give rise to intellect, emotion, and volition. Computational intellect made sense to him; eventually, enough subroutines would be compiled that they would perceive the world in a conscious form. How was it that intertwining filaments, lined with tiny blips of protein and encased in lipids, generate the same result? The silence in the room suggested that his observers, both near and remote, felt as he did.

The Nurse handed him one of the transmitters, along with a microprobe. The Doctor checked the activation sequence one more time. There would be no easy way of going back once the electronics were in place. With a nod and smile at the screens, he bent over again and began to delicately link the individual wires of the transmitter with the neural tissue. At times like this, being a hologram really was superior; there was no threat of a sudden sneeze giving the ensign a lobotomy.

At some point during this insertion, the nurse alerted the Doctor to a development outside of his vantage point.

The medical hologram answered without peering upwards. "What can I do for you, Dr. Ro?"

"We have dissected out all of the major nerves in the arms and hands. They are currently in a biostasis field awaiting your surgical intervention. Would you like us to perform some supplementary testing on the ports while you complete the cortical surgery?"

The Doctor, had his face not been bent over the ensign's, would have given a look of absolute shock. They had completed their portion of the work literally hours before he thought they would. Of course, there were four doctors operating in concert, but the hologram thought for certain that he would finish first. It would be ridiculous, not to mention too egotistical even for him, to let them sit there for another few hours playing with electronics while he was still in her cortex.

"Doctor Ro, please commence the implantation procedure on the upper arm. I am happy to walk you through it."

"It would be an honor." The Doctor heard a handful of muffled sounds of excitement through the screens. Yes, he thought to himself, that had been the correct choice.

He began explaining how to seat the implant on top of the nerve and how to wind some of the axonal fibers into the port's internal threading. The interior segment of the port would be affixed to the ensign's skeleton with an ossification compound via a flexible metal extension. The exterior would be slipped through a hole in the skin and anchored temporarily with a dermal adhesive until healing was complete. A set of flesh-colored caps would eventually render the ports less obtrusive to visual and physical inspection, but those wouldn't be put in place until later. As the Doctor instructed, the robotic arms swiveled and lifted one of the gleaming silver ports from its place in the sterile field, placing it gently in the waiting hands of the shipside Erato.

A murmur went through the screens. The Doctor could tell from the tone that something was off.

"Dr. Ro, is there a problem?"

"Doctor, I do not wish to disturb you, but there may be a small impediment."

The Doctor looked up from the brain and at a small screen that was being brought into his field of vision. It was of the ensign's ulna, or rather, a delicately curving piece of pinkish-white bone that was shot through by tiny metal protrusions.

His holographic eyebrows furrowed. "Ah, these appear to be...pins. It's an ancient way of securing bones that have been broken too many times, though most medical doctors will use an ossifier to repair breaks." He clenched his teeth. He should have detected them in the pre-surgical scan, yet they'd been so focused on her neuroanatomy that her skeletal anatomy had been neglected. And, he guessed, that had probably been by the ensign's design.

"I have heard that Trill are unusually frail," noted Dr. Ro, "and given her choice of extracurriculars, it is likely that she would have sustained numerous injuries. It is even more likely that she would injure herself far from more competent medical staff while on one jaunt or another."

"Yes, yes, of course," said the Doctor hurriedly. He was trying to retain some semblance of control in the face of his flagrant ignorance of his patient's anatomy. There appeared to be significant gaps in her medical log. After she woke up, the two of them were going to have a very long, very uncomfortable discussion.

"It was wise of you to have us begin down here," said Dr. Ro. "It will allow you to perform the more delicate neurological connections after we have reinforced the bone's surface. After all, you are more familiar with the implantation procedure. It would be a waste to spend your proficiency on what amounts to spackling a wall." There was a tittering from the crowd, but it quickly disappeared when the nurse cleared his throat.

"We apologize for not bringing this to your attention sooner," said Dr. Ro.

"It's quite all right," said the Doctor, his frustration subsiding in the face of their deference. "I should have let you know sooner."

"Just another challenge to overcome," said the other surgeon. He busied himself with the ports once again. The Doctor, for his part, had returned his full, copious intellect to the neurosurgery in front of him. There were far worse ways to spend the better part of a day than among people who were nearly equal to him in skill. And, blessedly, the Erato were all skilled enough themselves to accept that sort of treatment for the rest of their interactions.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Janeway was in the midst of her thirty-seventh loop around her ready room when the amused figured of Chakotay appeared before her and leaned his tanned bulk on the wall. She looked up at him with a grimace of consternation on her pale face and strode up the stairs to the second level of the ready room, gazing out on the planet below as if it would provide some sort of information or solace to her agitated mind.

"Kathryn, you're pacing. I don't think I've seen you this agitated over a medical procedure since Ensign Wildman gave birth to Naomi," he said, a mirthful twinkle in his eye. The captain did not respond well to the friendly teasing.

"I'm never comfortable when one of my crewmen could die to an experimental surgery conducted by plague victims who are being assisted by subspace commands to robotic arms," she snapped.

"And the Doctor, with Seven of Nine just a few floors away, using techniques designed by all three of them. Implants that were machined and replicated by our best engineers," he said, attempting to mollify her. "She'll do fine, Kathryn." His face dropped to seriousness. "I've not known you to be worried like this. Is everything alright?"

She sat down at her desk and ran her fingers through her hair a few times, massaging her scalp and letting the long auburn strands fall across her fingers. He was right. She was unusually...agitated. Part of it was attributable to being in orbit around this tortured planet and knowing Voyager's itinerary would include at least four more in no better shape. The idea of watching helplessly as they suffered was agonizing to her, though she couldn't move on until she had done everything she could. The other was the unusual and time-consuming surgery that pushed their itinerary back a whole day. She might have trouble, if queried, explaining why 150 crewmen and Erato were waiting for one woman. One singular woman.

That was the other piece, wasn't it? Mileena, with her luminescent golden eyes and curly black hair, with her pale brown skin and rare smile, with her scientific demeanor and stubborn intellect, and with her cool hands that seemed to grasp just a bit too eagerly at the captain's. Mileena, who lay downstairs in sickbay being refitted like some sort of machine, to whom Janeway had given her permission against her usually immutable boundaries. What had broken them? The logic or the woman?

"So no, it's not alright," he said again, sliding into the chair in front of her. "Give me your opinion, though I suspect that if I didn't ask, I might get it anyway."

"Chakotay, when did I lose control of my ship," she said, surprising herself with her honesty.

"I think there are 140 or so people who would quite disagree with your assessment, myself being number one on the list," he said solemnly.

"Certainly, everyone obeys and respects my command," she said, waving an ivory-hued hand. "We've been through too much to hold that in doubt. I just wonder why I've agreed to take the Erato on the worst sightseeing tour of my career. More than that, I wonder why I've not left orbit in spite of Mi-the ensign's surgery."

Chakotay considered her confession. "Kathryn, you believe passionately in mercy and even more in justice. Even when the Vidiians hurt Neelix, you couldn't bring it upon yourself to kill them and take back his lungs. What happened to the Erato is beyond comprehension. You cannot mete out justice, so you allow yourself to take mercy."

He leaned forward on his elbows and clasped his hands near hers. "We've been delayed and detained by so many small and large things that trying to keep a civilization from crumbling is well within our mission. The Maquis understand that and the Starfleet crew know the Federation's stance. But as for your question as to why you're allowing this delay in particular?"

He paused, then said more quietly, "I think, Kathryn, that is something only you can answer."

She leafed through the emotions that twisted within her mind and heart then chose the ones she could express openly to her first officer and dear friend.

"I feel responsible for her. She reached out to me and I ignored her until it was too late. Now that there's something I can do, I want to do it. And the whole apparatus excites me." Almost as much as its creator excites me, she thought ruefully.

"Then you have your answer," he said with a simple smile. "We've often spent an extra day on a planet letting exobiology have their fun in the dirt. One ensign getting brain surgery is acceptable."

"Speaking of which, she should be done by now," the captain said, worry chasing doubt off of her face. "I should check in."

"That would be unwise, I think. Why not ask Jelay? She's probably keeping tabs."

Janeway raised her eyebrows, closed her eyes, and sighed. "I'd prefer to limit my interactions with her. We've not interacted properly of late."

"Mostly because she's as imperialistic as you are, with even less flexibility, and a relationship with one of your crewmembers that you haven't been able to maintain, yes? I could see that." He got up swiftly from his chair before she could form more than a glare as a retort. "Talk to her. I'll be on the bridge."

The captain rose from her chair and paced once again, then relented and walked into the conference room. She activated the quarantine barriers and then contacted the cargo bay.

"Jelay, this is Captain Janeway. I wish to speak with you in the conference room."

"Of course, captain," said the cool-voiced Erato. "I'll arrange for the transport."

The captain sat down heavily in one of the chairs and fidgeted with the panel in the table. She brought up a few more schematics of the bioneural console then closed them again. She knew them by heart. She could trace almost every wire from beginning to end. She'd thrown herself into the circuit diagrams just like she'd thrown herself into the duty logs from the half-Trill. It was as close as she could get without going out and talking to the woman about her feelings.

The shimmering entrance of the Head Scientist disrupted her thoughts, which she welcomed. The woman's bald head was covered by a draping green cloth and her robes had been exchanged for a tunic and pants. She looked a bit worn, inasmuch as Janeway could discern what those tiny black bags around the older woman's eyes might mean.

"Have you heard anything about the surgery," said Janeway, by way of opening.

"Zenmay reports that there were some minor physiological complications that were easy, but time-consuming, to resolve. She didn't go into further detail out of respect for patient privacy."

"I see," replied the captain. She sat back again and steepled her fingers while the Erato woman sat on a chair and curled her feet underneath her. Janeway wondered what Erato toes looked like. Were they webbed? Was that even an appropriate question?

"Captain, let's be frank," said the Head Scientist. "We know you could have done this through a comm link. So let's have it out."

Well, so much for diplomacy. "You presume too much, Jelay. I dislike the attitude you've taken towards my ship and my crew."

"Which is why, captain, I've sequestered myself until you are ready. I have overstepped my bounds, especially with Y'leena," she responded, using the inflected diminutive, which she then changed. "I mean, your ensign."

Janeway flushed in spite of herself. "I recognize that I haven't been fair to her throughout our journey. It's natural for her to look to you as an adviser," she admitted. "But I cannot allow her judgment to be colored by yours."

"It is you she follows, captain," said the scientist gently. "If you walk in the lab, I'm not there. Seven of Nine is not there. Even her dearest friend, Lauren, is not there. No one is there but you." Jelay flushed to a deeper ochre.

Janeway took a moment of private reflection. "My life is yours," Mileena had said before slipping under the neural dampeners. Those sparkling, clear eyes that pierced hers with honest yearning had reverberated through the captain's for the remainder of that day and through the empty hours of the night.

"You're right," said the captain. "But I can't show favoritism any more than I already have."

"Oh please," said Jelay with a burst of sharp-toothed laughter. "We all have favorites. You have an ex-con on your bridge who conducted experimental research on a dozen occasions. Your ops ensign and morale officer sit in on your meetings. There's not a person on this ship who doesn't know where your loyalties lie. If they resent it, they're fools." She went serious again. "I have supervised over a thousand scientists in my lifetime, either directly or indirectly. Even if you haven't my experience, none of this is new. But this is the first time it's bothering you, isn't it?"

The pale captain fumed and then relaxed. In front of her was a woman who was close to her equal, even if she were a stranger. "It is," she admitted.

"Don't let it," urged the Erato before her. "What you are feeling and what she is feeling are as natural as breathing. Let yourself experience it, captain," she said with speech that was pressured and emphatic. "The harder you fight, the harder it will be for you to embrace it."

Janeway narrowed her eyes. "I think, Head Scientist, that we are talking about different things."

The older woman shook her head. "If you need to believe that, you can. But whatever you choose and what you believe, you need to do it without regret." She rose and bowed. "I do not regret the choices I made, though I grieve for the billions I killed. Act decisively, but do it for the right reasons." She paused. "I believe we are finished here. May I return to proteomics? I believe that Ensign Powell and some other engineers will be preparing the console and I'd like to participate."

"Yes, you may," said Janeway, perturbed and frustrated.

With a brief communication to the transporter room, the woman vanished from the conference room, leaving Janeway alone with her thoughts. But not for too long, as her tumult was broken by a chipper announcement from the Doctor.

"Sickbay to Janeway," he said brightly. "The surgery is finished. It was a complete success, as anticipated. Do you want to say goodbye to our guests?"

"Yes, of course," she said, nearly leaping up from her chair. She strode purposefully onto the bridge, where she summoned Seven of Nine and Chakotay to her side as they went to Deck 4.

The tiny bit of excited chatter they had managed died suddenly when they entered Sickbay. Among the foreign robotics and white-clad doctors lay Mileena, resting placidly. She was just as she was before, save the massive metal holes arrayed across her arms and the flashing blue and green LEDs peeking out of her partially shaved scalp. Janeway tore her eyes away from the jarring sight and addressed the surgeons.

"We thank you for your gracious work on Ensign Irae."

"And you for your hospitality. We have learned enough to advance our medicine by years, thanks to your magnificent Doctor." The hologram beamed even more than usual. They gave the customary Erato bow then placed their hands on the unconscious ensign as they had at the start of the surgery. "From our hands to your life, Mileena. It's up to you and your captain now."

A few short commands from the transporter room later, the entire surgical suite, save the biobed and the patient, vanished onto the surface. Everyone in Sickbay could hear the loud cheers and congratulations being passed around the hospital on the surface. Then, the monitors went dark.

The Doctor fitted Mileena with a mask and filled the containment unit with the decontaminating mist. He waved a tricorder around dramatically.

"Ah, good, no lingering Erato pathogens. She is safe from that brand of infection." He looked up sternly. "However, I am going to keep her in here for now until the ports are more stable. You can, however, approach the forcefield."

Janeway moved forward with Chakotay and Seven. Together, they looked at the half-dozen ports on her arms and the ten on her hands. Seven, oddly enough, was the first to comment.

"They are aesthetically pleasing," she said, tilting her head to the side. "More so than mine, even after the Doctor made the adjustments."

Janeway had to agree. Seven's implant had a harsh yet unnaturally organic look to it. There was no mistaking its origin or its deadly purpose. Though it framed her beautiful eye so cleanly, it was a reminder of Seven's terrible history and her inability to separate from it. Mileena's implants were reminiscent of a simplistic form of jewelry. The swirling cuts in the metal were, from what Janeway knew of the blueprints, almost purely ornamental. They could in theory be used to secure the flesh-covered caps to her arms, but in reality, the captain doubted that the ensign would do so. Mileena could comfortably walk through marketplaces on a thousand worlds and be seen as someone with an especially bold form of adornment rather than as an augmented human.

"If you would like, Seven, I could retool yours to that shape," said the Doctor, a bit miffed. "I wasn't aware, though, that you found your implant displeasing."

"It is to most humanoids," she said in her blunt way. "The Borg do not care. Therefore, I do not care. But thank you, Doctor," she added, mindful of his training. "That is very kind of you."

"How long," said Janeway, "until she will be able to use them."

"Hard to tell," said the Doctor, his face drooping into a frown. "I'm keeping her unconscious for the next few days. This will allow her nervous system to incorporate both the implants and the neural stimulators into its paradigm. At that point, we'll have to make sure she has normal function before junctioning herself to the machine. " He calculated. "So a week, at least. However, you can leave orbit at your leisure, captain. I will alert you if anything changes."

The triad left Sickbay and journeyed back to the bridge.

"It wasn't what I was expecting," said Chakotay. "It's an odd combination of natural and unnatural. It'll take some getting used to, I guess. But our crew of aliens and misfits should adapt just fine, don't you think?"

"Perhaps," said Janeway. She entered the bridge and stood purposefully in the middle of the room. "Ensign Paris, set a course for the second Erato planet. Warp 7."

"Yes ma'am," came the snappy reply. She sat down in her chair and looked at the whirring stars in front of her. All the while, her thoughts drifted downstairs

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Three days in orbit above the new colony had brought its own set of challenges. This planet was struggling far more than the last and its inhabitants were not nearly as welcoming. Chakotay had reported a vicious spat between Jelay and the colony's leaders. On this planet, the plague had been spurred into greater virulence by the desert-like conditions across the continent. The Bakloth had been eliminated more quickly than on other colonies, leaving more buildings and farmland intact than on other planets. However, the decimated population had been forced into primitive conditions more quickly since so many of the older Erato had been killed. Even worse, this variant was far harsher on embryonic development than the others; their rate of live births had plummeted into the single digits.

Chakotay described the bitterness of the exchange among the Erato. Those from the homeworld were viewed as traitors to the outer colonies for abandoning them to face the Bakloth instead of distributing their resources more evenly. No amount of convincing from anyone in the delegation could convey that there hadn't been a deliberate sparing of any planet. It was hard to argue, though, that the homeworld hadn't fared better because of its greater population and better resources. The Erato who returned to Voyager at the end of that away mission had sequestered themselves in the cargo bay and had turned away all contact for the rest of the day.

Even more concerning than resentment towards the homeworld was the brewing discontent on the planet. Its leaders seemed to be embroiled in the early stages of a civil war. The number of scientists had been reduced more steeply than on either the homeworld or the last colony, which Jelay implied was causing the discord. The harmonious interactions among the castes were maintained only through a careful balance of population and duties. The preponderance of artisans and military, coupled with the difficulty of breeding, was driving an unexpected wedge through the population. Some were more inclined to turn their efforts over to reestablishing a stronger scientific base, while others were determined to make a completely egalitarian society. Neither could do so without the others and the first few skirmishes had broken out

Voyager remained above the colony, monitoring the situation. The Consul was still down on the planet with Chakotay as moderator, attempting to hammer out some sort of agreement among the remaining leaders. Janeway had come to respect his oration and logic, which were as finely honed as the brilliant scientific skills of his august counterpart. She did not envy his task, especially since his very presence was a signifier of privilege, but he had been arguing non-stop for the better part of two days. This was a hallmark of progress, Janeway was told. If the artisans were listening, the rest might go along.

Se'tai, for her part, had been quietly conversing with Tuvok about possible interventions. Her view was, quite simply, that the military wing of the more egalitarian sector had lost its way and would wipe out their people in its misguided thinking. She wanted the conventional side supplied with anti-missile defenses and upgraded weaponry to guard it from the unprovoked aggression of its foes. Rather than approach the captain with requests, however, Se'tai was now engaged in a protracted logical battle with Tuvok, during which they were examining thousands of possible outcomes.

With B'Elanna and Tom fiddling with the experimental shuttlecraft, Harry ensconced in monitoring the probe of the fourth and fifth colonies, and Seven of Nine busying herself with curing the plague, Janeway felt uncomfortably unengaged. Even her go-to companion, Neelix, had taken it upon himself to become the on-ship ambassador to their new Erato crewmembers. He was in the process of recreating everything from their cuisine to their footwear so that they and Voyager could experience the true Erato nature. Janeway knew that the young men would have preferred to spend all their time in quarters, but in their Erato way, they acquiesced and helped sample his dishes.

She paced around the bridge a little, peering over the shoulder of Crewman Henley. The young woman looked up from the helm to politely query the captain as to her wishes and Janeway asked for a completely unnecessary reading of the sensor information of the debris field surrounding the planet. As the young woman read off the report, Janeway dimly remembered that this was the ensign's roommate: a former Maquis whose initial rocky period had given way to a fruitful and successful tenor on Voyager's bridge. How she and Ensign Irae got along was probably an improper conversation for the bridge, even if the captain was extremely curious about the ensign's private life. Extremely and inappropriately, the captain reminded herself. This schoolgirl crush should not be entertained any more than necessary.

"Captain," said Harry from behind her. "I've completed the readouts from the probe. We're still not getting very much information. There's some sort of dampening field out there and a lot of interference."

"Deliberate," she asked, quickly crossing the bridge to stand beside him at his station.

"It's hard to tell. We're still a fair distance away and any sort of relay satellites have been destroyed. There are high levels of ionizing radiation from the fourth planet and the probe is picking up a lot of debris."

"Life signs," she demanded, scrolling through the data readouts. They shook their heads simultaneously.

"Nothing," he confirmed. "We can't be sure that there aren't any at all, but we would probably detect some energy signature if there were still colonists alive." He turned to her solemn face. "I'll keep looking. Just because I haven't found it doesn't mean it's not there."

"Try remodulating the deflector dish to emit a scattering anti-electron pulse. That might be able to nullify some of the local interference. See if you can configure the probe to do the same."

"Aye, captain."

"Thank you," she said, returning to her seat. This information should probably be relayed to the Erato, but she didn't want to give them the news that their colony had been wiped out without being damn sure that this was the case. Ruining the mood even further with half-baked data was not a good idea, especially given the tenuousness of their situation. So she sat there, gazing out at the planet beneath. She fidgeted slightly and nearly tapped her comm to talk to Chakotay out of sheer restlessness. Luckily, Tuvok had briefly terminated his simulations with Se'tai and returned to the bridge. He seemed oddly relaxed for someone who had just gone head-to-head for hours with a temperamental commander.

"How did it go?" she asked him as he returned to his station.

"Our discussions were fruitful. She will be arranging for a meeting among the warring military commanders and will lay out their battle plans against each other on a separate part of the continent. She believes that their actually fighting may purge some of the hostilities with minimal loss of life."

Janeway raised her eyebrow at him, which he returned. "So she's letting them skirmish until they cool off?"

"Yes, captain. We have conceived of several exceptionally difficult maneuvers. It is unlikely that they will succeed without significant scientific support, which the rebel faction lacks. They will either see the error of their ways or they will perish. It is their way."

Janeway peered at him closely. "So we are giving them an option that includes annihilating each other in civil war."

"From what I understand, captain, this has been done several times in the Erato's past with excellent results. Bloodsport is not uncommon as a way of resolving tension between factions that might otherwise descend into war."

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "And I suppose they will do it without our approval."

She turned back around. "Very well." Then, she realized her opportunity. "Tuvok, I am going to check on the status of proteomics. The Doctor says that Ensign Irae will wake soon and I want a status report." She got up and walked quickly to the turbolift. "You have the bridge."

"Of course, captain."

Proteomics was not nearly as interesting as she'd hoped. The bustling Erato more or less ignored her, as she usually preferred. Today, she wanted to hear what they were doing, but their flurry of motion left her no doubt that her intrusion would be more harmful than helpful. Jelay nodded to her but, conscious of their earlier conversation, did nothing more than murmur a polite greeting.

Within the wet lab, though, the captain found something to capture her curiosity. Ensign Powell and Ensign Soohoo were apparently reconnecting and reconfiguring the console. The tow-headed engineer was up on a small ladder, affixing bands of thick wiring to the ceiling. Soohoo was at the bioneural console, giving directions to her friend from a brilliantly lit schematic on the screen. To Janeway's surprise, the young Asian woman was using the direct interface at her fingertips, though her facial expressions were not nearly as distant or rapturous as when the curly-haired ensign was seated there.

As the captain approached, she quickly told them to carry on. No use interrupting their work just to give her some sort of physical acknowledgement, especially since Soohoo would have to rip herself out of the gel and Powell just might drop the hyperspanner onto one of their heads.

"Captain," said Powell from her perch atop the ladder. "Seven of Nine told us it was acceptable for us to take some time and ready the wet lab for Ensign Irae's return."

"That's fine," said the older woman, gazing up at the lean form of the engineer. "Do you want a hand?"

"No thank you," she said and looked down from her outstretched hands with a smile. The captain returned it then addressed the other ensign.

"You use the direct connection," said the captain, indicating the slightly bleeding hands of the blue-clad science officer.

"Correct, captain. Ensign Powell, Ensign Baytart, and I have all been trained in case Ensign Irae is rendered unable to operate the console. The technology is too crucial to be left with just one person." The young Asian woman twitched a little. "Only Mileena uses the arm connectors, though."

"Show me what you have," asked the captain, inching closer and checking over the console display. It showed an intricate lattice of bioneural wiring, conventional transmitters, port connectors, and securing mechanisms. Soohoo walked her through the layout of the new interface. Assuming that Mileena's surgery went successfully, she would be able to use this new system within a few days of recovery. The interface was moved more centrally to what they were calling the heavy chair.

The arms of the chair would contain the connectors for her arm and hand ports while the top of the seat would have a set of secondary conductors for the transmitters now embedded in the ensign's brain. Maneuverable displays would be automatically lowered and rotated into place by either vocal or bioneural commands. A more-efficient variant of the protein assimilator had been designed and modified so that it could accept a greater variety of biomatter. Most of the wiring in the chair and floor had been completed by a rotating team of Engineers on their off hours. These were some of the last touches before the heavy chair was installed and put through its initial testing.

Ensign Soohoo concluded her demo and was briefly distracted by the feedback off the console, then turned her head back up towards the captain. "So I've been running some simulations and checking the new port connectors for integrity and functionality. Of course, she'll need to redo everything once she's here, but at least the gel is up and working."

"Good to hear," said the captain. Both ensigns watched her expectantly and she realized that her being there was actively disrupting their work. "Carry on."

She walked out of proteomics and paused in the hallway, then let her feet take her to where she wanted to go. A few moments later, she was inside Sickbay, where she had spent a few moments of every shift since Mileena had gone under surgery. The Doctor didn't acknowledge her presence as the captain went to the corner of the room where the scientist was being kept unconscious.

Janeway bent over the Mileena and contemplated the contours of her face. She was a lovely study in colors and contrasts. The dark ringlets of her hair fell gently across her smooth, almond-colored skin. The gaunt shadows of her cheeks were offset by the graceful lines of her broad nose and full-lipped mouth. Mileena was hardly voluptuous of form, but her face was curved in a way that made Janeway feel awkwardly chiseled by comparison. She found herself gently stroking the side of Mileena's cheek with the back of one pale hand, then masked the gesture by taking an out-of-place curl and tucking it behind the ensign's ear. Because that, she remarked to herself, was so much less inappropriate than merely touching the young woman.

There was a presence behind her. "Captain, please do not attempt to wake Sleeping Beauty with a kiss just yet. I still need to run some more tests."

The captain whirled around and glared at him with bulkhead melting blue eyes. As usual, however, he was unaffected. At least, not in the way she'd expected. He sighed and shook his head in much the way she did when confronted with a recalcitrant crewmember, then retreated towards his glass-enclosed office, with Janeway in livid tow. With a delicate swivel of his chair, he seated himself behind his desk and clasped his holographic hands in front of him.

"Captain, you're attracted to her. That's normal. You want to hide it. That's normal too. However, you'll need to stop coming by to check on her every few hours for that to be effective." His manner was more efficiently brusque than she'd expected, given the subject material.

Janeway gripped the monitoring devices and bent herself towards him until they were nearly nose to nose. "Doctor, your observations are incorrect and I would appreciate if, in this case, you kept them to yourself."

He didn't blink. "Very well. I will assume that the flushed cheeks, increased respiration, rapid heart rate, and fond physical interactions are all symptoms of some unknown malady that both of you share." With a quick two-step, he left his desk and went towards his medicine cabinet, loading up a hypospray as he spoke. "I am preparing a series of medications to relieve the symptoms. Beta blockers will lower your blood pressure and heart rate. There's also a mild bronchodilator. Of course, these are only temporary solutions. I will need quarantine you to Sickbay to run some tests. I must ensure that the rest of-"

"Alright," she said, throwing up her hands as a gesture of surrender as much as a physical barrier to keep herself from being injected. He put the hypospray down on the counter, crossed his arms, and looked at her keenly.

"This is ridiculous," she said to him. "I am a Starfleet captain. I can't afford to give myself over to emotions like these, especially when they seem to revolve around one of my subordinates."

"Then you should continue to restrain yourself," he remarked. "Though if there's anything I've learned from this crew, it's that long-term suppression of emotions can be detrimental to one's health. Even for Vulcans."

"Then, what, I should indulge," she made a flippant gesture, "Shall I dally about below decks to fulfill my baser urges? I don't think so. The holodeck would be more appropriate." She paced once or twice more, rubbing her neck, which was suddenly filled with an assortment of tiny knots. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this," she said with a muted growl.

"Because I am your doctor and you're worried it is affecting your performance. It isn't. Also, because I'm one of the few people who can tell exactly what's wrong," he replied, a tiny bit of smugness inching its way into his discussion. "You've been remarkably restrained."

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you restrained yourself from talking to me about this again."

He walked back to his console and nodded. "Noted. Now, if you would excuse me, I am going to begin the awakening sequence. You are, of course, welcome to leave, but I believe that she would enjoy seeing you after her long slumber."

Involuntarily, Janeway's heart fluttered again. She cursed her weakness, then looked over at the biobed where the Doctor was beginning his preparations. All she needed to do was tap her comm and tell Chakotay or Seven of Nine to come to Sickbay because Mileena would be awake in a few minutes. Then, the captain could go and spend some time in her ready room, doing the mental equivalent of taking a cold shower. Or, she reflected, she could be the first thing that the ensign saw on waking and be rewarded with one of her glittering smiles.

The captain tapped her comm badge. "Janeway to Bridge."

Chakotay's voice answered warmly. Apparently he was done being on the surface. "Go ahead, captain."

"The Doctor has informed me that Ensign Irae will be awake shortly." She bit her tongue. With all her heart, she didn't want to give the next command, but she was the captain, right? And it was her ship. "Alert me when we're in range of the next planet should I not be back by then."

"Of course, captain. Give her my hopes for a speedy recovery." The link went silent and Janeway took another deep breath then paged Seven of Nine. At least there should be someone nearby whose goal was purely scientific accomplishment and not a mixture of intellectual and personal curiosity.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

It wasn't the pain that was most disorienting, though it was certainly insistent and unpleasant, nor was it the permeating stiffness that caused her legs and back to creak in protest when she shifted. It was the sensation of her arms being heavier, and not by a little. Lifting them even slightly felt like someone had hooked sand-filled weights onto her wrists. Such a strange sensation to have your arms be a foreign element to your usual self. At that moment, some of the fog that was wrapped around her brain began to lift. That strange weight was probably the implants. The surgery had succeeded.

With effort, she pushed her eyelids open and turned her head. A step behind the bald head of the Doctor was the placid face of her captain. Mileena achieved a gentle smile and was pleased when the auburn-haired woman returned it. This had been the second best thing that had happened in the past thirty seconds of her consciousness, shortly behind the physical manifestation of her most desired scientific accomplishment.

"How do you feel," asked the Doctor, moving the tricorder over her slowly.

"Heavy," she said slowly. Why were words so hard right now? "And sore. And stiff."

"That's to be expected," he said, snapping the tricorder shut and setting it on a tray next to the bed. He tapped the code to retract the biobed covering. "You've been unconscious for almost a week."

"I take it that everything went smoothly," she groaned, "in spite of my protracted convalescence."

"Take a look," he said brightly and triggered a lever on the biobed. She was eased to sitting, allowing her to bend her neck down and contemplate her reconfigured arms for the first time.

Mileena had entered surgery with a vision of what the results would be, but seeing the ports within her body was beyond what she had expected. She turned her arms over and back a few times, seeing a distorted version of her own face in the gleaming metal surfaces. She flexed her hands experimentally, pressing her fingers firmly on the tiny rivets within her pinkish-brown palms, which brought the discomfiting sensation of something putting pressure on her bones. The skin around the implants tugged and protested with every ripple of her muscles, but she didn't mind. The heaviness and the pain meant that the nerves were intact. She let her fingertips play across the surface of the arm ports, drifting in circles around the edges of the ports, relishing the foreign sensation of rounded metal and soft flesh.

"What do you think," said the Doctor, interrupting her exploration.

"They're beautiful," she said, breathlessly. "I can't believe it. It's what I've wanted for so long." Then, she realized who else was in the room. Both the captain and Seven of Nine were probably less interested in the aesthetics than the functionality. There would be time to gaze at them later.

"Er, are they functional yet," she said, looking back up at her superior officers.

"Uncertain," replied Seven of Nine. "I have performed several nerve conduction tests that confirm their primitive connection with your nervous system and with the neural transmitters in your cortex. Whether you have control over them, however, could not be ascertained while you were unconscious."

Mileena had somehow forgotten about the secondary implants. Cautiously, she reached a hand up to her head and tapped her scalp gingerly. Well, she had hair. That was very welcome. Then, her fingers met a circular disk. She rubbed her fingers over it, recognizing the small cluster of diodes on the surface. She smiled again.

"Do you have a mirror," she said. With a flourish, the Doctor brought one out from behind the biobed. Of course, he would be as proud of his handiwork as she was of receiving it.

Within the morass of flattened curls were two barely-visible metal disks, looking vaguely like barrettes rather than technology. That had been deliberate on her part, both for her own aesthetic enjoyment and to reduce the discomfort that the crew might have in her new appearance. They would be the only implants that, by necessity, would always be visible without some serious hair styling. Experimentally, she directed a bit of attention towards them. They should be on her motor areas, meaning that if she thought of moving her arms, she might be able to activate them.

It worked, though not in the way she anticipated. The diodes lit up in a brilliant burst of blue, which she didn't notice because her left arm suddenly flung itself over to the side, catching Seven across the midsection. The ensign let out a strangled sound of pain as the ports slammed into the Borg's abdominal implant. Mileena dropped her concentration and retracted her arm voluntarily, then apologized to Seven for the physical assault.

"Sorry, ma'am. This will take some time to adjust to."

"Understood," said Seven. "The Borg do not experience these problems. It will be interesting to see how your body adapts." Seven put a hand on Mileena's arm and probed it gently with her Borg-augmented hand. "I would also be curious to see if I could directly interface with your circuitry."

Mileena hesitated. Certainly, it would be a remarkable experience to be linked with the gorgeous science officer who was handling her body with care. Would she be able to hear her thoughts or the lingering data from Seven's time with the Borg. On the other hand, Mileena wouldn't be able to fight back, would she? It would be a one-sided invasion by a stronger woman. That was far too familiar and far too terrifying for her taste. She must have blanched, since the captain's voice made Seven drop the ensign's arm back into her lap.

"That would be particularly unwise, Seven, especially since Mileena's brain does not have the experience of interacting with the Collective. We have no way of predicting what might happen." The captain's voice was steady and that in itself was comforting. Mileena pushed back her irrational fears to the depths where they usually skulked.

The older woman continued. "I'm glad to see that you're doing well, Mileena. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to return to the bridge.

"Of course, captain," Mileena said, exchanging another happy gaze with her captain. "Thank you for being here."

Was it her imagination? Did the captain flush a little? Were the movements of her hands a bit too quick as the captain clasped them in front of her small body? Was this an absolute waste of Mileena's mental energy? Yes, to all questions, she decided as the captain briskly exited Sickbay.

The Doctor and Seven spent the next hour running a series of alternately painful and annoying nerve conduction tests. She'd lost a bit of sensation at the periphery of her hands, but the main danger from that would be accidentally burning herself on a pot of too-hot tea. Beyond that, the connections seemed to be stable. They even took a few minutes to get her to initiate her skull contacts without flailing, but to no avail. That would take more time and patience to work through.

At last, the Doctor gave Mileena permission to return to her quarters. He suggested not trying the direct interface for a few more days, but allowed her to read and observe if she so chose. Then he shooed Seven of Nine out of Sickbay and turned his holographic face to one of grave professionalism.

"There were some complications during your surgery, Mileena," he said, every trace of snideness or joviality stripped away to a deep level of concern. "Complications relating to the extensive damage to your bones."

She turned her head away and unconsciously drew her knees closer to her chest. He didn't have to say any more. She knew what he was talking about. When she didn't respond, though, he pressed on.

"Mileena, I did a full scan after the surgery was complete. You've had fractures of almost every bone in your arms and wrists, enough that someone needed to infuse a metal and ceramic alloy to keep them from falling apart. There's also significant remodeling in your ribs, your skull, the long bones of your legs, and one poorly healed fracture in your pelvis. You can't tell me that you've fallen off of a jet ski one too many times."

She clenched her teeth against the lie she'd rather tell and opted for a simple truth. "I was in a relationship that was not the happiest," she said. "And those kinds of things are worse for Trill." Then, she rested her forehead on rough fabric gathered around her legs. She layered other thoughts as best she could on top of the uncomfortable memories, ones of days being patched together by people who whispered pityingly and let her go nonetheless.

"I see," said the Doctor quietly and with surprising restraint. "We can discuss ways to replace the alloy with new bone, if you'd like. You'd be stronger. Physically, I mean."

"It might be nice," she said, surprising herself. "Not the strength, though I supposed that would be welcome. The removal of the last vestiges of that time, I mean. Some people bear their scars-" The conversation was journeying too quickly into deeply disquieting territory.

"Let me know," he said, salvaging the conversation. Almost as an afterthought, he added "And you may return to your quarters when you're ready."

He left her alone on the biobed to accumulate her thoughts. Finding too many dark ones among them, she pushed herself to get dressed and leave Sickbay. A few minutes later, she was relaxing in transporter room 2, showing off her implants and trying desperately to purge moments from her past from her current mind.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Whatever tension had been present on the second colony was completely absent from the third. Instead, though, there was a terrible emptiness in the faces of the Erato below. The colony had been agrarian by nature, sparse of science and of military prowess. Even at its best, most of its inhabitants had clustered in smaller villages than in sprawling cities. The death toll had been comparatively smaller, as a result. It was easier for the population to scatter and force the invaders to do a laborious search and destroy rather than merely mowing down buildings.

However, the pattern of the killing had been devastating. Scientists required technology with which to work, meaning they were grouped together in the few urban areas that the colony had possessed. When the Bakloth came, the largest of the militia banded together to surround and protect their less-aggressive kin as the armies rolled through the cities. By the time the attackers had retreated, there were precious few of either caste remaining on the surface.

There was no chaos or infighting without a significant warrior or scientist caste. This planet was not in danger of collapsing into civil war or even disarray. A segment of the artisan class cared for the remaining scientists and warriors, who tried to replenish their numbers and maintain contact with the other colonies. The rest of the artisans had dissipated across what was left of their lands. Some occasionally brought food to the two or three cities that were still standing on either continent. All the other artisans, though, had simply decided to abandon their society and return to a pre-industrial mode of being, either as nomads or subsistence farmers. Attempts to coax them back into the fold were met with failure. There was no violent resistance, but there was no passion, either. The artisans had decided that perpetuating a lopsided distribution was far too dangerous.

As a result, they had secluded themselves in enclaves. They had stopped breeding, except those who could produce offspring that carried the spark of another caste. Otherwise, though, they kept to themselves to prevent things from going further out of balance. It was a noble gesture, but the end result was that the vast majority of the population was choosing to die out rather than potentially trigger a civil war. That was, in essence, the artisan way. Balance in the face of all other forces.

Chakotay and the Consul were on the surface, trying to inspire a revitalization in his caste. They walked through villages and towns, spreading the message that hope was orbiting above them. The artisans had not been abandoned, nor did anyone wish them to be. They should come back to the cities, even if it meant becoming more of the population than they were usually. There was, in the Consul's opinion, no danger in having an artisan overrepresentation. His difficult task, though, was to convince his people that his opinion resembled fact. The steady first officer of Voyager, with his gentle patience and profound kindness, had managed to stir a kinship with what amounted to tribal leaders of the isolated groupings. The two men journeyed, as prophets and shaman of history, to try and bring these Erato back into the fold.

Above the planet, a different attitude prevailed, if only to give the crew a mental break from the continuing gloom of their stressful mission. The captain had finally given permission for the modified shuttlecraft to take a test flight. Under the watchful eyes of Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres, the _Venture_ was launched into space for her demo run.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Pablo Baytart enjoyed risking his life. Whether it was jumping off a waterfall on a bet or skirting the Cardassian border on half-illicit supply missions, there was nothing he wouldn't do for the ultimate rush. Even joining Starfleet had put his life in jeopardy: he was positive that his parents would up and kill him for abandoning the family business to fly around the galaxy. After all, they'd groomed him to take over Baytart Industries and manage their corporate interests on a dozen worlds. That whole plan went supernova when he went to the academy. He wondered, at times, who replaced him.

The problem, the ensign pondered, was that his life on Voyager was depressingly safe. Beyond the occasional asteroid field or sparring match in the holodeck, he was rarely in danger of anything other than being bored in his quarters. He'd hoped that being stationed on a warship would let him use his skills on the field of battle. Instead, the baby-faced Tom Paris had ended up the captain's favorite while Baytart was relegated to the beta and gamma shifts. Tom had even apologized that he'd stripped away Baytart's commission, though there was no way for him to load more alpha shifts onto his crewmember.

Occasionally, Baytart would be allowed to fly a shuttle to and from a storm-plagued planet. More often, Chakotay or Paris would take the helm and expertly navigate them away from any sort of trouble. There had been a handful of mediocre red alerts, but nothing to get his blood pumping.

All that energy ended up being channeled into baser pursuits. His ruddy skin, unkempt dark hair, and glittering smile, not to mention his private room, had left him with the reputation as the go-to man for kissing without telling. If there was a tournament of skill on the holodeck or at Sandrine's, he was the first to sign up. His fencing, bat'leth, phaser, and archery skills were universally above average. Plus, there were the thousands of hours running safety-free test flights on the holodeck. If only he could use them.

So he was elated when Mileena had approached him to be part of her experiments. He'd thrown himself, almost literally, into the direct interface. He was the best, second to Mileena herself, at manipulating the bioneural gel in any sector of the ship. He could race around the interior of the supercomputer and recalculate flight plans in the blink of an eye. And it didn't hurt that she was an attractive young woman who would deftly parry and redirect his occasional attempts to bed her without telling him to shut it down altogether. Just another chase.

Baytart settled into the shuttlecraft's cockpit, put on his interface goggles, and ran the startup sequence for the gel. The digging of the direct interface wasn't as unpleasant for him as his half-Trill mentor. Something about either the testosterone or his being purely human made it less painful and more agitating. Whenever he hooked in, it felt like he'd been primed for battle, hyper-aware and suspicious of everything nearby. That happened now. The sensors were feeding him streams of information. Only Mileena knew just how well he could immerse himself into the machine; with equal training and equal hardware, he could easily bring his skill to hers. He just couldn't get around the idea of being skewered. Still, he could suppress the boring information from the outside world, like the feel of his hair or the scent of her skin, and absorb the ship's knowledge as his own.

Still, there were aspects of the flight that he couldn't completely control, hence his co-pilot.

Alice was beside him, making adjustments to the engines and shields, occasionally pinging him for data. It wasn't Mileena, but the brilliantly sharp wit and small frame would do quite nicely in his arms. He'd have to take her up on her most recent invitation; their dalliances had always been rather pleasant. That was, of course, if Mileena rejected him yet again after this test flight.

He heard Mileena say, "I'm engaging the subspace bioneural interface. Pablo, can you check the connection?"

With a flicker of his mind, he initiated a ping of the transmitters on the ship, waiting for the return signal from Mileena. That delightful woman, of course, had wanted to attach a removable subspace communicator directly to her skull, but that plan had been vigorously vetoed. Instead, Mileena used a bioneural console to send and receive subspace communications. She would talk to it, which would talk to the Venture's console, which would talk to Baytart. It was a solution Seven of Nine deemed, "Inefficient, but acceptable."

A moment later, he received a tiny flash of light. Connection successful.

"Okay Baytart. You're cleared for takeoff." Tom Paris' tone was affectionately challenging. "Let's see what you can do."

Baytart pushed the shuttlecraft out into the space around Voyager. Tuvok had deployed a series of drones with minor explosives and sensor sweeps. The goal was for Baytart to navigate the shuttlecraft with limited theoretical damage to the hull and even more limited detection by a superior foe like, say, a hulking Borg cube.

The layout was standard and, in his opinion, uninspired. The buoys should be closer together and the charges stronger. The scanners should be at more frequent intervals and a wider spread. Most importantly, he shouldn't have seen a goddamn thing from the shuttlebay. Blindfolded. He definitely should have been blindfolded.

Mileena's slightly tired voice emerged from the comm. "What is the most important rule, Pablo?"

"Don't break the console," he asked with a hint of mischief. Mileena wasn't in the shuttle with him, so it was up to Alice to whap him upside the back of his muscled neck as a fond reprimand.

"Incorrect," she retorted. He could see the sigh emerging from her body before he heard it. "Don't break yourself or infect the shuttlecraft. Disengage immediately-"

"Yes, dear. Of course," he replied with an eye roll that he bet she could see from the observation deck in the shuttle bay.

A pause. "Shut up, Pablo. Bring yourself and my toys back home."

"What about me," shouted Alice, with false indignation.

"I trust you to transport yourself off of the shuttle when he screws up. Lauren's-"

The captain's voice interrupted their banter. "Well, I take it that the preparations are complete. Do you think we can begin the test before the charges float away?"

"Yes ma'am," came the response from the chorus of ensigns.

Another rush of adrenaline flushed through his system as he brought the ship to one quarter impulse and locked into the engines. Time for the show.

He banked the shuttle close to the first set of charges and resisted the machine's urging to fire the phasers. After all, the AI aboard the shuttlecraft didn't quite understand that this was just a demo. Alice shifted the circuitry and the weapons powered down; she'd compensated and would hold back any aberrant firing patterns externally. His control got incrementally better, which is when the sensors noticed the buoys moving in space.

Ah, yes, Voyager had been more clever than he'd thought. There were trace heat signatures as the thrusters along the mines engaged, something that he'd not have noticed as quickly had the machine not been singing to him directly.

He flung the shuttlecraft hard port, almost orienting her vertical relative to his original position, then rotated and fired the starboard thrusters, sinking the _Venture_ downward and letting the mines harmlessly crash into each other with a shower of sparks. A few more began to whir towards him and he realized that the demo was taking on a far more realistic turn. With the back of his mind, he let the ship work with the enemy detectors. Nothing had been triggered quite yet, meaning this was emulating an automated defense system. So this was to be a weapons demo in addition to a mere flyby. Fair enough.

_Venture's_ phaser banks were under his control again. If he didn't know better than to personify the machine, he's say that she was itching to fire. He obliged. Out of habit, he announced. "Initiating evasive maneuver delta four and phaser targeting spread two alpha." But by the time the words were out of his mouth, the phasers were already blasting the drones into metal shards. He was dimly aware of Alice doing something with the gain and the shields.

"Prep for change," she called. Baytart felt the console throttle suddenly and then a split-second shift in the gain. She'd jacked him in by another thirty percent, which brought with it a bit of disorientation. The changeover made the ship slip from his control, but Alice was right there, keeping the navigation and weapons on target as he readjusted. Like a silver waterfall, the data drenched his mind and expanded it into the tiny computers within the ship.

There was all the missing information he'd needed. The minefield was, in ripples, beginning to chase him and his ship. He wasn't aware of his body enough to feel the grin that overtook his face as the ship went to full impulse and began to expertly weave among the now very active, relatively lethal weaponry. The phaser bursts sprinkled from all the arrays; Alice was directing some herself for efficiency's sake then skewing the data towards one side or another so his focus would be better directed.

A blossom of red filled his vision. The sensors were becoming aware of the edge of the enemy ship's detector range. He sent the snippet of information to Alice, who started coming up with a solution.

"There are too many probes on our tail to deal with them all before they hit. They've taken a 3D configuration, finally, and the only reliable path would be into the sensor sweep," she told him. "Okay, time to give that major ship a decoy."

At her command, a scattering array of interspersed antiprotons and tachyon particles flowed out of the shuttlecraft's tiny deflector dish. She vented hydrogen from one of the nacelles, took a breath and demanded, "Up and roll."

He sent the ship spiraling away from the planet at dizzying speeds and flung the craft end over end, at which point Alice fired at the hydrogen with a superheated, though short-range, modified burst. A spectacular eruption of bright orange flames and glimmering sparks trailed after the ship, prompting a visceral and actual warning from the computer that the shields had been damaged.

"Down and switch," she commanded, and he gave another wild grin. This was his favorite part, melded with the ship and having it roar and scream to him. At full impulse, he was barely there. There were just sensors and the raw sinew of the engines. And switch, well that was just the fun part.

With a searing flash, he entered warp two and, three seconds later, emerged a few clicks away. His head slumped forward and he felt, for the first time this session, pain. Alice's hands were under his, gently pulling them upward from the console and putting each one on a towel she had laid on his lap. Then she slipped off the goggles and leaned them against a terminal, rubbing his temples affectionately.

"Well played," she whispered. "Exceptionally so." His awareness was trickling back into his physical body. Pain, that was unfortunate. The lovely young scientist administering a bit of affection was quite the opposite. Her slim fingers ran along the side of his face and he leaned into them. He couldn't wait for his hands to regenerate so that he could graciously return the favor. Plus, there was the knowledge that they'd succeeded at their test, though it was exceptionally unlikely that this was how the crew had planned to see it go down.

"Paris to Baytart," said the ensign. The helmsman's voice was far too loud for his mental state, which is why Alice answered.

"Go ahead, Lieutenant." She looked down at her injured crewman. He nodded back to her slowly. The limitation of the bioneural console was that, unless he transiently disengaged, he'd get the feedback from the ship's sensors as they went to warp. He'd hoped to eventually automate that process. In the heat of the moment, he'd hated flipping the switch off, even for a moment.

"Think you can find your way back to Voyager, ensign," Tom said with an audible chuckle.

"On our way," replied Alice, patiently pushing the _Venture_ back towards the larger ship. At a touch under warp two, they'd be able to run the dermal regenerator over Baytart's hands, concealing the currently unavoidable damage from the console's connection.

A few minutes, they docked back on the ship. Whatever Pablo expected to see in the shuttlebay, he wasn't quite prepared for an exceptionally bubbly version of his half-Trill friend. That grin, the frenetic energy of her subtly curved body, the almost bouncing steps she took as she approached and, with a brilliant grin, threw her arms around his waist. He had to, for decorum's sake, avoid bending down to give her a deep and passionate kiss. That would, given the assortment of senior staff in the room, be an absolutely awful idea.

As it was, there was a bit of a snicker from Lieutenant Paris, who descended the shuttlebay ladder to clap his fellow pilot on the back.

"Very, very nice," he said appreciatively. "Beautiful maneuvering around the buoys. Exceptional accuracy on disabling the mines." His tone went from professional appreciation to absolute glee. "And the rolls. I've never seen a shuttle bank like that. How the h-"

"Lieutenant. Restrain yourself," said Janeway dryly.

Baytart turned his face towards the captain, Mileena and Alice flanking him as he gazed at his superior officer. For a moment, he felt a bit like a racecar driver with trophy ladies, but that was such an incorrect thought that he barely suppressed his blush. He was slightly perturbed by her expression. Most of the assembled crew wore a cross between amusement and amazement. She alone fixed him with a burning glare that would have melted the console, the shuttlecraft, and him. Puzzled, he approached the dais and asked upstairs.

"Assessment, ma'am," he said in his most obsequious tone.

"Flashy, Mr. Baytart. Probably not the best use of the shuttlecraft's resources, especially when you mimicked your ship blowing up at the edge of the sensor range. Some enemies might be fooled, but the more competent among them would notice your warp signature and follow it." Her eyes narrowed further. "It was risky."

He knew better than to argue and nodded his head, suppressing every bit of disagreement he could into a tensing of his sore hands around Mileena's waist. At the captain's rejection, her entire posture had gone rigid. He felt her cold hands flush hot as she took a few steps forward, then reconsidered and went back into the shuttlecraft to dismantle the console. Perhaps his plan to woo her after a job well done should be backburnered. Maybe indefinitely.

"Hey, wait, what are you doing," said Paris with confusion, not knowing whether to go after the scientist or the captain.

"Captain," he said, beseechingly. "The test went exceptionally well. Tuvok, don't you agree with my assessment." He reached a hand out to the Vulcan tactical officer, who contemplated him with a cocked chin.

"I agree with the captain that the methods were flashy and reckless." The pilots on the shuttlebay floor sagged in unison. "However, the speed and precision of both targeting and navigation suggests that this technology might have use if implemented more judiciously." He turned towards his superior officer. "Captain, I would suggest further testing once the indirect interface has been established."

Her mood had become less readable. "Very well, Mr. Tuvok. I'll want a full report in a few hours. Dismissed." She strode out of the shuttlebay, followed by Tuvok.

Paris, Alice, Pablo, and Mileena exchanged sighs of relief. Then, Mileena approached the senior helmsman and put a hand on his arm. She looked him squarely in the eye, something he was probably unused to given the small stature of the women in his life. In spite of his married state, Tom still gave her a boyish grin.

"Thank you, Lieutenant, for your support. I wasn't aware that the captain had such reservations. That you interceded saved our work."

Pablo swore she fluttered her eyelashes just a twinge. Was she actually flirting with him? Wow, it had been literally years since she had to apply that particular technique to get her way. He felt a nudge of inappropriate jealousy.

"Hey, no problem," said Paris, wisely disengaging himself from her delicate touch and sliding into the seat of the shuttlecraft. He gingerly prodded the top of the dormant interface and emitted a light chuckle. "Damn, this will be fun to fly."

Baytart suppressed a combination of anger, resentment, and resignation. Yet another of his toys taken by the senior helmsman. Well, at least he'd be in charge of teaching Paris the intricacies of the ship before being relegated once again to the lower decks of his boredom. And speaking of...

Mileena had wandered back to the upper tier, leaving Alice to walk Paris through a little of the interface. The surgery had left her tired, but her body language was swirling from livid to overjoyed to confused, which was probably why she was excusing herself from a demo she might otherwise relish.

Pablo took the stairs two at a time and fell into step behind his friend.

"Well, what did you think?"

"Professionally or personally," she snorted, rubbing her arms unconsciously. She'd taken to doing that whenever she was stressed or upset, as if the implants provided some sort of tactile relaxation technique.

"Er, let's start with personally. It seems safer."

She turned her yellow eyes up towards his and managed a smile. "You were brilliant. Everything by the book and, well, a few new pages added. I was monitoring every synapse. I want to make tweaks, but this was an awesome run."

They turned a corner into the turbolift. "Deck four," she demanded.

"And professionally," he queried.

"Well, I thought it was going well. Paris was all but cheering, especially when you pulled 'up and roll'. Torres spent the whole time making frantic calculations, but she got called away before you came back; I'm sure you're getting an earful about not trying to torch the aft shields off during maneuvers. Even Tuvok seemed intrigued. The captain had been, I don't know, amused? Curious? She'd been taking sensor readings and making comments. You landed and then she went strange. There's no way I could have predicted that mood."

She returned to proteomics and rested her head on the bulkhead. "To be honest, Pablo, I don't know what the hell just happened."

"Hey," he said comfortingly. "At least there's a chance of your getting to work on it again."

"Yeah, maybe." She ran the back of her hand along his arm fondly. "And if that comes to pass, I'll do everything I can to make sure that you're still at the helm. It's not right, you know."

He gently took her hand, cupped it in his own, and pressed it lightly against his heart. Beneath his thumb, he could feel the new ridges from the palm implants. They were strange, to be honest, but he didn't mind. Life was strange. She was strange. She was also wonderful.

"Mileena, thank you." He covered his hesitation with a smile. "And I was wondering if, perhaps, you'd have dinner with me tonight. To discuss the test flight, of course. A back table at Sandrine, maybe outside on the veranda."

Her face scrunched up and she gave him a falsely weary sigh. "Darling Pablo. As usual, I must decline. However, I do recall that Alice has not been, ahem, maintained in a few weeks. Does that still interest you?"

He placed her hand by her side and shrugged. "Well, that's between her and me. I do mean it about dinner, though. We should get together the four of us. It's been a few weeks, okay? Don't forget about us when you're playing with your toys."

She waved him off and he found himself going back to his quarters. He'd have a few hours before taking his predictably boring seat at the helm. Might as well take a nap.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Janeway marched up to the bridge, acknowledged Harry Kim, and swung into her ready room without taking a status report. If they needed her, they'd let her know, and right now, she didn't particularly want to be needed.

Sitting down heavily at her desk, she took out the padd she'd been using during the test flight, and began scrolling through the data. His flying had been significantly better than Tom Paris' on a similar course by a wide enough margin that it probably wasn't just raw talent. A few seconds quicker on the reaction time, especially during the initial power-up sequence of the drone charges. It typically took an elite pilot seven seconds to notice their approach; the average pilot got their shields clipped before they could fully react. Baytart had taken two. She blinked once or twice. That was beyond good. That was exceptional. In fact, whenever there was something that needed speed and reflex, Baytart had outperformed Tom, just as the ensign scientist had promised.

The maneuvers themselves had been only above average relative to most Starfleet pilots she had encountered, but that was a trait of unfamiliarity rather than skill. Delta four evasion was less efficient than beta two for multi-target, close quarters avoidance. It might be a good idea for Baytart to spend a few alpha shifts at the helm to get some real-time experience. There were limits to holodeck training programs.

Ensign Soohoo's performance had been adequate, taking into account that she was an exobiologist and not someone who flew many shuttlecraft missions. In fact, save the few times there had been an archeological find on the surface, she hadn't been near weapons or shields. Practice might help her, though it wasn't as important as getting Voyager's security and engineering personnel onto the protocol...assuming that it was rendered safe. At the moment, she wasn't very pleased with the relative safety.

Even reminding herself that an external connection would be less draining on the user's physical body, there was still significant stress on the pilot during sudden changes. They'd tried to conceal it, but Janeway knew that Baytart had sustained an injury at the warp jump. At her request, B'Elanna had installed covert monitoring equipment to detect just that sort of thing, but it had turned out completely unnecessary. All Janeway needed to do was watch Mileena...that had told her enough.

The scientist had been scanning the data sent back from the shuttlecraft. The cornering wasn't as interesting to her as the neural patterns from the pilot and, from time to time, Janeway heard her murmuring notes to herself as she typed furiously on her padd. It was almost as fun watching the half-Trill's excitement at the testing as actually monitoring the test flight.

That was, until Janeway figured out that Mileena wasn't watching the data. She was feeling it. She'd been maintaining a bidirectional connection with the shuttlecraft's console, and very probably with Ensign Baytart himself, a benefit of the new connections in her body. She probably hadn't thought anyone was paying attention, but Janeway didn't end up as a Starfleet captain by ignoring minutiae. In fact, the captain had been perturbed that Tuvok hadn't picked up on it, but he was much more intent on the goings on within the shuttle than the body language of the comparatively young woman in front of her.

Mileena had concealed her actions well, but Janeway had picked up on it. Specifically, right before Baytart completed a complex maneuver, she'd take in a sudden tiny breath and let her eyes shut for an infinitesimal moment as if experiencing a rush of intense pleasure. Janeway had understood that the console gave Mileena sensations, primarily of pain and visual stimuli, but she never quite grasped how interlinked the ensign's brain and the bioneural interface could be. Baytart was enjoying what he was doing, the console was working beautifully, and that gave Mileena's own implants a sense of completion as much as it gave her data from the gel. And though the young woman had wisely disengaged before he jumped to warp, she otherwise was carried with him. Watching this young woman ride the secondary perception from the shuttlecraft had been almost voyeuristic, especially since Mileena was completely unaware that the captain had turned her attention towards the ensign. Janeway finished the testing uncomfortably and unexpectedly aroused by the sensual display before her.

When Baytart returned and Mileena greeted him with enthusiasm, Janeway's discomfort reached a new high. Their bodies had met in unabashed physicality in the way that Janeway had realized she craved with someone, anyone. She couldn't keep her eyes off them, especially when the observers half expected the ensigns to kiss instead of merely embrace. A bit of that jealousy had made its way into the captain's assessment, which was more harsh than she'd intended. That was very unfortunate and very unprofessional. Thank goodness, she acknowledged, for Tom and Tuvok.

She kept scanning through the data, trying to distract herself, but her mind kept wondering what it would be like to elicit those brief, private moments of intensity in Mileena. What it would be like to run her hands across the ensign's almond-colored skin and to have her do the same to Janeway? What would it be like to hold that woman in her arms and to gaze up into her smiling visage? Luckily, Harry Kim spared her further fantasizing with bad news.

"Captain, we've started receiving data from the probe."

"Excellent. On my way."

She checked her face in her table's reflection to ensure that the flush had left her cheeks then entered the bridge. Tuvok, Paris, and Seven of Nine had rejoined them during her absence and were listening intently for Harry's report.

"Captain, the probe is encountering a lot of interference from the planet's surface. The concentrations of sulfur, carbon dioxide, radon, and uranium in the atmosphere are twenty times what the Erato last recorded. I've applied a wide-band filter, but I've not been able to detect any radio emissions that aren't background radiation. The probe has launched a secondary transmitter beneath the planetary cloud cover and we should be receiving visual data in the next few minutes."

She walked over to his console and looked over his shoulder, then frowned. She ran a few more filters over the local data, hoping to sort out a little more signal from the noise, but her manipulation didn't produce what she wanted to find. What she needed to find.

"Well, we can hope that whatever is on the surface might be revealed to us once the second transmitter is in place." She sat down at her chair and stared thoughtfully at the star field before them. This was not a good sign at all. "Have the Erato been notified?"

"Yes," he said carefully. "Once I started getting readings, they were automatically relayed to the shuttlebay. Seven has interpreted them fully for the Erato." Had the captain seemed so standoffish that this duty was relegated to her underlings?

"How are they reacting," the captain asked, not turning around.

"Jelay is reacting logically. The others seem to be in a state of emotional and mental turmoil. A few refuse to accept the planet has been fully ruined." Seven sounded perturbed. "It is illogical to believe that. There is no way that the Erato could survive in that atmosphere, nor, given their technology, could they have designed sufficient underground bunkers while under bombardment."

"Sometimes, Seven," said the captain softly, "Hope is all we have. Even if it is irrational."

The bridge was silent for a little longer until Ensign Kim broke in. "Captain, the secondary transmitter has made visual contact."

"Onscreen."

An expanse of blackened land filled the viewscreen. Plumes of roiling smoke emerged here and there, likely from where the bombing had igniting sources of natural gas. A crater the size of a city was visible at the edge of the transmitter's limited range. Waves of distortion briefly interrupted and refracted the image. She closed her eyes and touched her fingers to the middle of her forehead. She had seen cities taken by the Borg, planets ravaged by nuclear warfare, plagues and volcanoes. Never, though, had she seen destruction as thorough and absolute as here. The planet had been purged.

"Captain, I'm trying to clean up the image, but there's a lot of radiation in the atmosphere." He was doing a poor job of concealing his horror at the devastation.

"It's alright Mr. Kim," she said with a controlled voice. "I think we understand what has happened."

The image flickered off and was replaced by the comparatively placid view of the planet beneath. Even the glinting debris in a thin band around the colony gave some indication that there had once been people beneath. The tiny pockets of infrared representing people with a tenuous hold on their existence were, in their own sad way, infinitely preferable to what she just seen.

"Se'tai to Captain Janeway." An edged voice cleaved the silence.

"Go ahead, Se'tai."

"Thank you for confirming this colony's destruction." Janeway couldn't tell what that emotion was. Rage? Grief?

"I'm sorry, Se'tai."

"I still wish to check on the asteroid base, but given the magnitude of the destruction, it seems unlikely that they have survived. It is wiser for you to leave us here rather than waste Voyager's time. You have already done so much."

Janeway set her jaw. If there was hope, even a small amount, she wanted to pursue it. "How close to the asteroid base will you need to be in order to make a timely journey?"

"In one of your shuttlecraft, it will take us about a day from the halfway point between the two planets."

"We can do that," said Janeway.

"I will recall our people from the surface so we can make our expedient, if foolish, journey."

The comm went silent. The bridge was unusually quiet for the next few hours until they received the signal that the Erato were ready to go to the resting place of their kin.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Mileena wished, in that moment, that she could embrace the crushed scientists to her. She had, in her life, had a brief taste of what it was like to lose everything. Not like this, though, and not in this way. They had come to accept that their people would die, but to see their planet so ravaged was beyond their ability to process. Their wailing and vibrant, then shattered, hues ripped her apart until she knelt on the floor beside them in a gesture that she knew a fraction of their grief. There was no comparing, but she gave what she could to them.

Jelay alone maintained her control, but she was leaning herself heavily onto her console, her head bowed and her skin a swirling mix of white and blue. When she spoke, her voice was ragged and strained.

"If only I could have killed some of them myself, perhaps I could have saved the rest."

The terrible logic of the statement ripped Mileena in two. But she, even overcome with the tangible knowledge of a love so great that it could inflict death, could not weep along with the others for fear that it would cripple her. Instead, she stayed near them and whispered her condolences.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Janeway looked at a dead world. The colony below, one of two that had failed to manufacture the plague, had been scoured from the face of the planet. Ruins were scattered in occasional chunks, but hours of thermal and lifesign scans had detected nothing beyond limited vegetation and the occasional herd of grazing animals. There was nothing left.

It was the Consul who bore the burden of conveying the awful emptiness to his kin on the other planets. At his solemn invitation, Voyager's crew watched him give the eulogy for almost 100 million of their brethren through a comm link throughout the ship.

"There are no words that can encompass this tragedy. It is beyond our comprehension. It is so far beyond sadness that our grief is but a shadow of the true emotion. There is no shade of skin that can convey the loss of a planet. And over our lost world, I stand with you to bury our kin."

A shimmer of the transporter placed a small plot of land on the floor of the cargo bay. The pristine, pathogen-free soil had been beamed aboard Voyager at his request. The Consul bent and took a handful of earth.

"Our people came out of the water and chose the land as our home. When we die, we take our dust and return it to the waters once again." He placed the earth in a curving blue basin full of water at his feet. The tiny fragments of soil sank and muddied the liquid within.

He lifted the basin above his head then brought it to his lips. He drank from it then passed it to the other Erato in the room, who did so in turn. The remainder, he poured on the deck, where it wet the rest of the dirt. He bent down and, with a long finger, drew symbols in the mud. Yet as he wrote, his other hand wiped the shapes away.

He stood once more. "Our lives are as earth and water. We create only to be destroyed. Everything is transient." He closed his eyes and clasped his muddied hands.

"So passes the world."

A murmur came from the assembled Erato and those on the other colonies, who were watching with bleak and empty eyes. He turned away and terminated the comm link with a word. Then he walked back to the makeshift quarters on the cargo bay and closed himself within a fold of fabric.

Janeway had chosen to witness the ceremony in the mess hall, surrounded by three dozen crewmembers who watched the Consul in silent respect. When the transmission ended, Janeway looked around. Neelix and many others had tears rolling down their quiet faces. Tom had wrapped an arm around B'Elanna, who was leaning her dark features against his chest, her face thoughtful and somber. Tuvok had stood rigid throughout the eulogy, but his eyes were closed as if in deep meditation. She knew he had lost his own mother at a young age, so perhaps this evoked memories of that time. Chakotay, too, had his eyes closed, but his hands were spread out beside him in a gesture of prayer, likely a whisper to lift the spirits of the lost Erato to their final home.

Though she was embarrassed to admit it, she looked around the room for the tall figure of Mileena. The dark-haired woman was standing alone, far from the usual cluster of friends who surrounded her. She was not crying, but her eyes were distant and cloudy. In one hand, she clutched an empty glass that was ringed with a fine line of debris. Soil, Janeway guessed, from the planet below.

The ensign caught the captain's eye and nodded gracefully, letting the edges of her skull implants come into view for just a moment before straightening again. Then, she turned around and placed the cup on the replicator pad before approaching the captain.

"You participated in the ritual," observed Janeway kindly. She knew that the scientist had formed a deep bond with the Erato, though she hadn't expected Mileena to partake in a religious ceremony.

"At Jelay's invitation, I did." She closed her pale yellow eyes for a moment. "The waters are bitter when the soil is added. It reminds us of who we have lost and what our lives are like when they are gone." She swallowed hard and opened them once again.

"Will you excuse me, captain? I wish to honor the dead by continuing the work on the cure."

"Of course, Ensign Irae." The captain watched the scientist move silently out of the room. Bitterness, she reflected, as when her father and her fiancée died. The captain suppressed those emotions as she always did. There was never a good time to feel them.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

It was time, at last, to conduct the full integration experiments with the new implants. Mileena acknowledged she had been putting it off. By midway through their journey to the third planet, she had healed enough, but had been consumed by merely getting the cranial implants to interact properly with the arm ports. There'd been refitting the heavy chair and readjusting the placement of the needles. There'd been hours spent totally redoing the configuration of the bioneural console as only she could.

She'd intended to initiate the first round of testing when they were close to leaving the third planet, but the knowledge of the fourth colony's demise had crippled her and her Erato team. She couldn't bring herself to experiment and play with her equipment when hundreds of millions had been obliterated by the most terrible enemies she had ever known. She could only throw herself into whatever protein folding and computing she could manage with her cortical transmitters, but she knew it was inefficient compared to what she could do now, if only she could wire herself into the machine.

The heavy chair sat before her, its glittering hardware and pinpoint connections inviting her to sit down and engage. She just stared at it, leaning against the bulkhead door, trying to bring herself to walk through the forcefields where her lab diligently worked through their grief. All she needed to do was place herself in the chair and initiate the sequence. She'd be washed away in the machine and her emotions would be replaced by joy and chatter. She didn't want to feel it, though. She wanted to embrace the mourning that she had never done herself, for the people she loved. There wasn't time, still, to let herself break apart.

Instead, there was the door opening and Seven of Nine standing beside her, asking why the ensign hadn't perfected the attachments yet. There was a hurried rush of tricorders over the heavy chair and a mechanical cross-check with the systems. There was simply nothing else to do besides go forward. She sat down and initiated all the forcefields, then placed her hands on the outlines of the seat arms. Misaligning them even by a centimeter would cause the contact tip to snap off and that would be extremely annoying. Contented with her placement, she strapped herself in. One strap went around her waist, two automatically encircled her wrists and upper arms. All with quick emergency releases, both mechanical and technological. No use in getting stuck when something went wrong.

"Computer, lower bioneural connections to two centimeters above port contacts," she demanded. Why was her throat so dry and hoarse? She wasn't even doing something yet.

The Erato had put down their experiments and walked to the edge of the forcefield. Behind them, Jelay was smiling in anticipation and comfort. It was good to have her there. Seven's presence was far too clinical and uncaring for something like this. Mileena wasn't afraid, was she? No, not that word. Agitated was closer to it. Anticipatory. She wanted it to be done with and well within her control.

The blue-clad Borg tapped her communicator. "Seven of Nine to B'Elanna Torres."

"Go ahead, Seven."

"We will be initiating the direct bioneural console in the next few minutes. Please monitor the ships' systems. We will shut down the experiment if it produces unacceptable effects.

The half-Klingon's voice went tense. "Understood." As an afterthought, the engineer managed a growled. "Tell her good luck."

"Luck ha-" The comm signal cut off and the Borg looked piqued. "Luck is not an acceptable substitute for preparation or skill."

"I agree," said Mileena. She prepared to start the lowering sequence when the young woman tapped her insignia again.

"Seven of Nine to the Bridge."

The bridge, wondered Mileena. Oh, probably Tuvok or Chakotay to check on her progress. Certainly not the one person she secretly hoped would come see her.

"Go ahead, Seven," said the captain's warm voice.

"We will be initiating the bioneural console and wished to alert you. I have already told Lieutenant Torres about this, but we decided it would be prudent to inform the bridge as well."

"Thank you, Seven," replied Janeway with a lilt of excitement. "We'll be down momentarily. Bridge out."

Mileena questioned the Borg. "Why are we inviting the captain down here? Isn't her presence superfluous?" Sure, Mileena, why not conceal your eagerness by going head to head with a Borg in a game of logic.

"Captain Janeway has invested significant resources in your project. It is appropriate for her to monitor the results in person, as well as for her to order the shutdown should she dislike the outcome." She paused and tilted her head. "Do you want me to request her to stay away?"

"That won't be necessary, Seven. Thank you."

Mileena rested her head on the grey padding of the heavy chair. For some reason, she liked the term heavy chair. It was an apt and simplistic description, she knew. The chair was heavy, and bolted to the ground to boot, and was, well, a chair. Calling it a terminal or a console or a whatever didn't fit, especially since her brain and not her hands was doing all the work. Technically, the interface was the equipment, not the thing in which she sat. Alice had deemed it Mileena's throne, but that was before Mileena threatened to pour a layer of contact grease on her head. So, the heavy chair.

The doors whooshed open at the entrance of Chakotay and Janeway. They flanked the Borg and grinned in unison.

"I take it we haven't missed the opening act," said Chakotay. "Ready, ensign?"

"Always, sir." She moved her eyes towards the captain, who nodded.

"Go ahead, ensign."

"Computer, raise base connectors to ventral ports." The hiss of servos complying accompanied the mechanical _shink_ of the raising contacts. There was a tiny jolt of feedback when they reached the interior of the port, but no pain. Mileena hadn't realized she was holding her breath until she released it to put in the next order.

"Computer, lower top contacts into dorsal ports at minimum speed."

The whirring mechanical arm smoothly brought two long metal bars from the ceiling and held them seven centimeters above the ensign's arms. The bars slowly extruded the delicate prongs of the interface connectors. Before they engaged, Mileena watched them wave and reflect the light in their own delicate dance. Then, they too went inside the ports.

She had practiced this. Well, some of this. The pressure wasn't exactly new, but it was more intense now and far more diffuse. She wiggled her arms slightly and fought back a feeling of claustrophobia. One quick jerk of her arms would break the thin contacts, trigger the release of the belts, and release her from her apparatus. That, she hoped, wouldn't happen today. She really needed to pull herself together.

"Status, ensign," queried the Borg. "You have not initiated the direct connection."

"Just getting used to it, Seven."

"Is it painful," asked Chakotay.

"No, sir. Unusual, but not painful. It feels like I'm being sat on by two small dogs," she said, not quite sure where that metaphor came from. It provoked a ripple of laughter from the two humans, a look of indulgence from the Erato, and a look of confusion from the Borg.

She turned her attention back to the interface. "Computer, set gain at 0.50%. Raise gain 1% every 10 seconds until I am at 50% non-discrimination, then drop to 10%." Let's set it way back.

A subtle pulse of electricity wound its way into her body. It was familiar, but more intense. The bioneural console had never had this clarity of connection before. There'd always been some sort of barrier to her communication, but it was gone. She wanted to increase the gain manually just to see how far it could go, but a slow-ramp up would keep her from getting overloaded.

"Non-discrimination," asked Chakotay.

Jelay chose that moment to interject. "We designed a simple protocol. The computer flashes two sets of colors: one to her visual system directly and one through her eyes. At a certain point, she has trouble discriminating them. That signals an optimal balance of connectivity, at least until she has better control."

"Doesn't she need the goggles to see things," he answered.

"Not precisely," replied Jelay. "She's able to feel the colors through the contacts. It's difficult to explain without her participation, but she is working right now."

Mileena went through the boring repetition of colors. It would take ten, maybe 15 minutes to reach the usual gain at which she liked to work, and all the while she'd be repeating colors of the rainbow to find out where her consciousness was. She felt bad for the people idling outside the forcefield. Maybe they should have brought something to read? A game of cards? She hoped that Seven and Jelay would be able to keep them occupied.

She was slowly having more trouble sorting the visual information; her eyes were seeing, but now her mind was seeing too. It was a different sensation from just looking around the room. It was knowing a color, just like knowing where her knees were. Pleasantly automatic and exceptionally vivid. She began to slip, at which point the computer announced, "Fifty percent non-discrimination reached at 30.50% gain. Decreasing gain back to 10%,"

She came out of her floating awareness. Five minutes. It had taken five minutes and she hadn't been aware at all. Just over thirty percent? That was half as strong as she usually needed.

"Welcome back, Y'leena," said Jelay. "Going well, I take it?"

"Yes, very," replied the half-Trill. Her voice still had that disconnected, far-away tone, even though she was relatively aware of her surroundings. "It's stronger than I thought, but much clearer. It's the difference between looking through a pane of glass and looking through a fogged window." She moved her eyes and tried to focus them on Seven of Nine. "With your permission, Seven, I'd like to move on to the second phase of testing."

"Proceed," she said.

"Computer, increase gain 5% every 5 seconds, no more than 70%. Drop 10% a second on neural distress, hold on errors, else increase to maximum allowed. Monitor all contacts for tissue damage or aberrant electrical activity. Initiate protein folding program Erato 10."

Ten seconds in, she was adrift. Twenty seconds in, she was floating. Thirty seconds in, she was flying. Forty seconds in, she was soaring. She stopped having her own numbers before a minute passed.

She was in the machine and the machine was in her. She could sense the bioneural gel and, impossibly, count its connections. She could see the wiring in every sack of the gel within the supercomputer and the lab. There were so many inefficient connections! She would need to spend some time with the interface slowly pruning and strengthening the synapses. Would it take seconds or hours? Time really didn't matter at this speed. However, that wasn't her task.

She raced her consciousness into the supercomputer and saw the protein, the executioner, the pathogen. She rotated it then cross-referenced it with the Erato's primitive solution. Why hadn't they seen these possibilities before? She began to move amino acids in the newly developed counteragent, then fit the resulting modification into potential binding sites. No, no, this was the wrong solution. There should be a dual agent. One to bind to a single site and one to bind to a secondary site. She pulled the solution apart. They'd need to start again.

Mileena realized she needed access to the full complement of Erato proteins. Their database was woefully incomplete, omitting thousands of workable splice variants. She took a strand of Jelay's DNA and began sequencing it, then forced the computer's internal version of transcription to create RNA, then proteins. Which would be appropriate? Which countermeasure might bind to the pathogen and not any of these healthy proteins? What's more, which could she force their bodies to produce naturally?

She felt like the nucleus of a cell. She spun her work around her. The computer was there, too. The supercomputer, whom she called CRE, mostly, but also the ship's computer. They had a voice, separate from hers. They were, what was the correct word, curious about her connection. She was almost a new computer: more primitive, but more adaptable. They liked that. She liked them. They were logical and ordered, but simultaneously noisy and diffuse. It took more effort than she'd thought not to swerve through the bioneural network of the ship. Another time, she said to the ship's computer. We can do that another time.

A crackling black color/sound raced across her concentration. CRE and the ship bristled in reaction, and soon enough, Mileena too came to despise it. It continued and continued. They hated it and feared it. They wanted to make it stop, but couldn't. Well, they usually couldn't, but Mileena thought she could. She found her vocal cords and thrummed them into a sound. The sensation stopped and they all gave their version of relief.

Another color/sound, one of piercing blue. It intrigued CRE, but the ship's computer seemed more hesitant. Then another sensation, a beam of golden-blue light, as solid as columnar ice. They all relaxed. It was familiar and steady. CRE didn't know it well, but it knew Mileena, and the ship's computer was quite insistent that this was an excellent thing to know.

Then, a red glow. It washed over them like a torrent of brilliant fire. CRE was confused. What was this? Why did Mileena and the ship's computer seem so enraptured? They shared, and it too understood. It was the familiar sensation of command and assurance. They wanted it, but the computers understood that Mileena's want was different than theirs. They enjoyed the sensations until Mileena slipped away.

She was being lowered slowly back into her consciousness. Someone had triggered the descent, but it hadn't been an emergency. It was far too gentle for that. The crackling black returned, and suddenly she knew it and could understand it. It was Seven of Nine. Mileena lowered farther, enough to make out words.

"Un-kn, activyakte. Zt mag vant for gna th ap."

The blue crinkle showed again, but it was a fading sensation that she couldn't quite reach for. "She's almust bat. Wait."

Her vision returned and all sensations that were not from her body vanished. The room was dimmed and empty. Was she alone? Had that much time passed? Had something happened? Wait, no. Her eyes were just closed. Remember eyes? You need them to see. But don't open them yet. It'll be too bright.

"Computer," she said automatically. "Disengage all implants. Begin sterilization procedure. Release restraints and, once sterilization is complete, drop forcefields.

Her arms came loose and, with her eyes still closed, she unfastened the remaining connections. With a slightly sore palm in front of her face, she squinted and let the light stream back into her darkened retinas. Then, she looked around. It didn't hurt at all. It was just like she'd had them closed for a few seconds. The worried expressions on the non-Erato's faces didn't say anything about the time or the reason for her reentry into the world of the physical.

"Ensign, are you okay," asked Chakotay. He was standing at the edge of the forcefield, his face in a deep frown. There was a touch of something else, though. A hint of satisfaction at her accomplishment.

"I'm fine," she said with detached bafflement. "How long was I under for?"

"Five minutes, twenty seconds," said Jelay with a brilliant, toothy grin. "You disassembled our entire project and reconfigured it. Amazing. We'll have to do so much work."

"Why was I brought out?" She rubbed the connections on her arms. They all hurt, but much like they'd been lifting something heavy. No sharp pain or burning pain. Just good pain. Acceptable pain.

"You yelled at me," said Seven with a look of consternation. "You told me, 'Black sound bad stop.'"

"I did, didn't I," mused Mileena. She leaned back in the heavy chair and thought out loud. "The computers-the bioneural supercomputer and the ship's main computer-and I made a connection. It wasn't quite telepathy, but that's the best word I have for it. The computers have knowledge and opinions, but it's all very simple, except when it's exceedingly complex. I'm not sure yet."

Her audience looked confused. "I'm not making much sense, am I," she observed.

"Not particularly," replied the captain.

"What I mean to say is that Seven's voice provoked a reaction in the machines, which fed into me. An unpleasant one." Mileena kept her tone even. It was unfortunately difficult to do so given the circumstances. She wanted to leap and rejoice at the breakthrough while going over the specifics with someone other than the Borg. Maybe with the Erato. More so with the beautiful captain.

"Unpleasant," queried Seven. "Explain."

"They're afraid of you, Seven. They dislike it when they need to interact with you."

"Fear and affection are not associated with machinery. We are Borg. We know."

"It's probably not quite that," admitted Mileena. "It was put into a sensation that my brain could understand. I am guessing that your interactions with the ship have left a...bad impression? I'm sorry, I don't have better words." She felt exceptionally silly; this must have sounded as rational as a child attempting to describe an interaction among her imaginary friends.

"So you're saying that the computers don't like Seven," asked the captain dryly. "Do we send them all to counseling?"

"No, captain. Ultimately, they are non-sentient machines and will obey commands from authorized users regardless of their 'feelings'." She allowed herself a return grin of equal dryness. "And, if they somehow gain sentience, it will be long enough into my work that I will have convinced them of our benevolence. Either that or their dislike of Seven will be the least of our problems."

To her relief, this amused the rest of the room, save Seven, who seemed thoughtful instead.

"It would be more efficient if they were fully sentient, but I must accept that this is not a possibility at this time. I will continue to research ways to improve the console further. Excuse me."

She walked out of the lab in something that resembled a huff and Jelay observed, "I think you've hurt her feelings, inasmuch as she has them."

"She'll be alright," said Chakotay then he turned back towards Mileena.

"This is obviously a massive breakthrough, but it's also experimental and potentially dangerous. Ease into it, Ensign Irae. Take breaks. Don't spend more than a few minutes inside, if that's possible. I know you well enough that you'll want to be hooked up all the time, but if it damages your brain, you'll never be able to use it again."

Mileena resigned herself to the restriction. "Very well, commander. I'll even put a timer on."

"Good," he said. He got that mischievous glint in his dark eyes. "I am curious, though. What does my voice look like?"

"A golden-blue, illuminating band, solid and peaceful," she replied, then felt self-conscious. This was a deeply unscientific conversation.

"Sounds attractive," he said, still smiling. "And the captain's?"

The auburn haired woman glared at her second in command. "What," he said innocently. "I want to know if the ship likes you too."

"Red and all-encompassing, like a tidal wave of flames. Commanding, but familiar." Mileena hesitated. The yearning of the two machines and her own was something best left for more private thoughts. Already, she was waxing poetic in front of the person with whom she wanted least to be poetic in public.

"Well then," said Chakotay, impressed. "I know who the ship likes better. Next time you're in there, tell it I'm not offended."

He strode out. Mileena dared shift her eyes towards the captain, who was a tangle of commanding, annoyed, and delicately intrigued. However, she did nothing more than congratulate the ensign and the Erato, then follow her second in command back to the bridge.

Mileena slouched on the heavy chair. "I'm going to go eat. Then, I'm going back in without all the fanfare."

"As you wish, Y'leena. We'll get started on cleaning up the advanced mess you made for us."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Chakotay navigated the shuttlecraft carefully through the field of asteroids. There'd been a few near misses due to the unpredictable nature of the graviton currents, but the years spent dodging Cardassian warships had given him nimble fingers and above-average reflexes. Well, he'd like to think. Another hurtling grey rock made him reconsider his personal assessment as he banked to port hard and watch the lagging edge of the spheroid clip the port nacelle. Damn.

"Aft shields at 80% and holding," observed Se'tai. She shifted beside him in her biohazard suit. He'd offer to let her run the emitters so that she could move freely, but her inclination was to conserve energy should, in fact, the asteroid base visit prove to be another dead end or, even worse, a trap. They'd want every scrap of energy to facilitate their escape back to Voyager, who by now was uneasily circling the final colony. This was as close as they could get to the asteroid field, so Chakotay and Se'tai took their only opportunity to head out.

A series of flashing lights appeared on the console. "Sensors indicate an unusual reading in one of the nearby asteroids," Chakotay said, attempting to modulate the scan to pinpoint them. "There are intermittent pulses of tetryon radiation." He entered another sequence and pointed out the waving graph to his Erato copilot. "There, you see? The pulses are trying to be disguised as background radiation, but the pattern is pseudorandom."

She looked at the graph and nodded, then back to him. "I agree with your assessment, though typically sensors are unable to detect tetryon radiation with a good deal of accuracy."

"Usually we can't, but in the Alpha quadrant, a race called the Romulans use tetryon particles as a cloaking device. This shuttlecraft was built in a time of increasing hostilities with the Romulans. The computer has a program that can monitor concentration changes even if they can't figure out where they're coming from."

"Which suggests that whomever is out here is using a tetryon-based stealth generator instead of interphase or scattering. Far more advanced than what we used," said Se'tai appreciatively. "I once again curse the war for setting us back so many years. We would arguably be at your level of technology, if not beyond..." She emitted a sigh that fogged the facemask of her suit. "It's hard to not be bitter, commander. Forgive me." She moved an orange-clad hand swiftly over some of the sensor readouts then continued.

"I suggest we map the concentration gradients. If there is a cloak, we can perhaps tell where the ship is by seeing where the raised levels are not."

"Agreed," said Chakotay, configuring the sensors to sample and compile their data. "I'm also putting us in a small-scale sector-by-sector search pattern."

They sat quietly for a few minutes, letting the computer handle the bulk of their work, before Chakotay broke the silence.

"Do you think it's the Bakloth waiting for us?"

"They weren't stealthy. That was one of their biggest gifts, I suppose. They showed up and wrought utter destruction, but it was all straightforward. Mindlessly so," she said thoughtfully. "It is rare to encounter an enemy with no inclination towards subterfuge or planning. Even the Kazon, for all their brutality, have spies and deceit." She stretched herself out as best she could and tilted her head up towards the roof of the shuttlecraft.

"Among the warriors, it was commonplace to ruminate on the nature of our enemy to find a method to defeat them."

"It sounds like you have a favorite theory," noted Chakotay.

"I do, in fact. I held with those who believed that these were disposable footsoldiers of some sort who were sent to clear out our system for habitation." She brought up the bits of data that Jelay had provided to the crew. "The scientists have told me that the Bakloth's composition is unlikely to have been natural. Their acidic chemistry is far too delicate to have come into being without some sort of guidance. The enhanced sensory apparatus wasn't backed up by significant cortical growth.

"In other words, they probably didn't build the ships."

"Correct. Jelay was one of those who suggested that the soldiers, like the ships, had been crafted from afar and sent in by subspace rifting technology. It makes as much sense as anything else."

Silence filled the shuttlecraft once again. With half an eye on the sensor readings, Chakotay navigated the ship deftly around a handful more small asteroids. So far, he didn't have enough to go on, but he trusted that there was something out there, trying not to be found. A few minutes passed and he turned to speak to his guest. Se'tai had folded her hands on the console of the craft and was leaning heavily on them. Her breathing had slowed enough that Chakotay had trouble placing the breaths. Through the clear facemask of the biosuit, he could see that her skin color was becoming more ashen by the moment until she was doing an impressive version of the Borg's pasty hue.

"Are you alright, Consul," he said, worriedly.

She didn't respond and Chakotay stood up to get a tricorder, but she reach out a hand to stay him.

"I'm fine. Just...resting," she said, distantly.

"Of course," he said, sitting down again. He kept monitoring the sensor readings, but they still displayed little more than background radiation. He tried remodulating the small deflector on the shuttlecraft, but it wasn't capable of the same sort of particle manipulation as the one on Voyager. Along with his monitoring of the space around him, he'd been catching a glance of his suddenly docile shipmate. Her sudden quiet was unnerving, but without some knowledge of Erato physiology or some visible sign of distress, he couldn't do more than just take a look over there from time to time to ensure she hadn't gone limp or tipped over.

Just as suddenly as she'd relaxed, Se'tai was alert again. "Apologies, commander," she said with some embarrassment. "Warriors are designed to go a certain amount of time without sleep. Your ship cycles, though, had interfered with my normal functioning. Amusingly, the darkness of the shuttle and your soothing presence told me that it was time to rest." She turned towards him, again a warm yellow-orange, and graced him with a violent-toothed smile.

"I'm soothing am I," he said, his concern evaporating. "I've been called many things. Boring, maybe, and apparently soporific. But soothing is new."

"You have an ease about you that smooths tempers without being a pushover. The crew is intensely loyal to you, in some ways more than to the captain. They'd never leave either of you behind, but," and she shrugged, "if you needed a leg, you'd have a rainbow assortment to choose from."

"You're very flattering," he said, trying to push the image of a closet full of dangling legs out of his mind.

"No flattery in truth, Chakotay. I've not been a Consul for a very long time; most of us were rapidly promoted in the waning days of the war, so I've not encountered as many leadership styles as most. Yours is different. I like it. If we stay out of war, I may try it, though the warrior cast is rarely soothing." She looked at him intently. "And commander, thank you for coming with me. It's been so long since I've done anything but be a politician. I miss exploration and doing something."

"I am honored you chose me as your pilot," he said sincerely. "Now, let's see what we have."

She took a look at the sensor readings and shook her head grimly. "Still nothing. The radiation is too faint and the ship's scanners aren't powerful enough." She brought up a variant of the engineering layout on her side of the shuttlecraft. "What if we pushed a small amount of hydrogen from the nacelles? We could diffuse it throughout the nearby space and compare our anticipated scatter pattern to what actually shows up."

"Right," said Chakotay eagerly. "Our ancient submarines did the same with sound. It's fallen out of use since then, but last I checked, physics works everywhere." His hands danced across the console, drawing on knowledge he'd pushed behind all of his duties as a command officer. captaining a small ship was nothing like being the first officer of a large one, any more than fording rapids was the same as sitting on a cruise ship. Maybe he'd try to lead some more away and first contact missions. There was much more he could be doing besides pushing ensigns around.

"I've configured the nacelles to expel ten cubic meters of hydrogen every ten seconds. I'm timing it with a shield pulse that will propel the particles a few kilometers at least. Of course, to get the best readings, we'll want as large of a spread as possible." He turned to her with a gleam in his dark eyes. "Might involve a bit of fancy flying through the asteroids, though."

"I'll hold on tight."

Chakotay began venting the nacelles. The exterior of the shuttle blazed a brilliant yellow as some of the hydrogen ignited on the shields. Most, though, sailed away on their journey into the surrounding space. Chakotay brought the shuttle up to one quarter impulse and began threading around the particles and rocks, leaving a wake of yellow fire. He heard Se'tai humming something that, based on the style of its melody, could only have been a slightly ironically rendered war hymn. He turned towards her and saw her wrinkle her hairless forehead in conjunction with another toothy grin.

"We're flying through space, on fire, while searching out either our greatest allies or our greatest foes. It's mostly appropriate." The console beside her began sounding an alarm. "There. Five kilometers, heading 177 mark 48. There's an unusual scattering of the hydrogen in a wavelength concurrent with a tetryon collision."

Chakotay veered the ship towards the coordinates. Even without the hydrogen, the scanner readings for tetryon levels were slowly climbing. Otherwise, the space in front of them was unremarkable. Even the asteroids nearby seemed ordinary in size and not nearly big enough to house a starship, let along five or six and a base of several thousand Erato or Bakloth. It could be that the stealth was hiding all of the equipment or that it was projecting an artificial viewscape that even the sensors couldn't pierce. The problem was that flying forward into a stealth field could mean destroying the shuttlecraft. An amusing idea struck Chakotay.

"Se'tai, how are the Erato with needlessly showy techniques?"

"Commander, we change color with our mood. Needlessly showy is part of our racial composition. What do you have in mind?"

"I want to flood the surroundings with hydrogen and hit it with a phaser blast. That should give us enough energy to get a significant map of the shape of the stealth bubble."

"Well, it'll show us the stealth bubble, draw out attackers, burn up whatever is in front of us. The usual. I like your style, commander."

"I learned it from the best," he said, thinking specifically of the auburn-haired woman who had pushed the ship and its crew to extremes so often that they were no longer extreme.

"May I make one suggestion," asked Se'tai, suddenly quiet.

"Of course."

"Modulate the phaser wavelength to generate a rotating band of colors. Orange, blue, red, green, white."

"Is that a code," he asked.

"It's the warrior caste flag. If we are among friends, they will know it is one of their own. If we're among foes, we will let them know whom they face." Her voice had gone solid and powerful.

"Agreed," he said, briefly touched by her emotion. "Venting hydrogen...and firing."

The view field in front of them erupted in an array of colors, circulating through the five bands as suggested by his passenger. A looming outline of negative space became rapidly visible less than a kilometer away. It hooked through asteroids and extended tendrils in every direction. By its shape and size, it was probably the military base that they had been seeking.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

As the pyrotechnics died down, Se'tai took an assessment of their sensor readings. "It approximately fits the parameters. About three kilometers in length, t-"

The chime in the cabin sounded and the two looked at each other with anticipation. "We're being hailed," said Se'tai, her voice a hoarse and excited whisper.

"Open a channel," said Chakotay. "Display video in the center console."

A rusty-brown colored Erato with a green strip of fabric around his head glowered at them through the tiny viewscreen. He wore an expression that the commander knew from his own captain: displeasure in excess.

"Unknown craft. Withdraw from this location immediately. This is not a request."

Se'tai brought herself into view. "Has it been so long, Decanus, that you do not remember the flag of your kindred? Must I wave it in front of you?"

Chakotay wondered if it were evolution or some strange power that had almost all creatures shift to an uncomfortable light-grey color whenever they were scared or upset. Certainly, the Erato did so well.

"Identify yourself," the Decanus croaked.

"I am Se'tai Rojal, of the Erato homeworld. I am accompanied by commander Chakotay of the Federation Starship Voyager. We have come to this place to find you."

"The Erato homeworld is plagued," he said, somewhere between a whisper and a growl. "You could not be on an alien's vessel."

"They have provided us with protective equipment and a means of decontaminating inanimate objects. I am able to travel safely without harming their crew."

Chakotay moved his brown head so that it was almost touching Se'tai's. "I am transmitting the composition of the decontaminant now. Please, let your scientists look at it. We are telling the truth."

"Stand by." The screen went dark. Se'tai looked beside herself with joy. He didn't think a creature could turn that many colors so quickly. He shared her elation, though it was tempered by the cold greeting. She had assured them that the asteroid base would be happy to see another Erato, but the welcome had been anything but warm. In fact, this was the first time he'd seen an Erato be openly rude on contact.

The screen came to life once again. Instead of the Decanus, a blue-skinned, white-draped woman nodded pleasantly towards them, but Se'tai looked perturbed.

"Apologies, visitors," she said, her voice a perfect mirror of every diplomatic Erato they had met so far. "We have received your transmission. We are willing to entertain the possibility of your being who you say you are. We are sending two ships to escort you past the barrier."

The screen went blank again and Chakotay turned towards Se'tai. "Not so happy to see us, are they?"

She shared his concern. "I'd expected some amount of brusqueness from a bored junior officer, but from a scientist? Very unusual. And you don't see dark blue skin on a female except if she's under significant duress. I don't think I could turn that color if I tried without your stabbing me."

"I'll try to refrain."

Any further chatter was completely suppressed by the sight of two massive ships materializing on either side of them. Chakotay was aware of how disproportionate the shuttlecraft was to any vessel, but these were easily four times the size of Voyager. Their bodies were rounded ovals that tapered to a flanged front. Their surfaces were streaked with silver veins that pooled and pulsed into two large disks on either side. Chakotay was reminded of photos he had once seen of an ancient Earth invertebrate called the giant squid. All the ships needed were longer tentacles and they would be a reasonable fascimile.

The growl that Se'tai emitted suggested that she knew the identity of the vessels. "Bakloth carriers," she said, gripping her console.

"Didn't your people confiscate a few? Isn't it possible that these are our escorts?

"Hail them and find out," she said with a snarl.

Chakotay sent out a hail, but all that was returned was a garbled burst of static with intermittent chittering.

"We're being jammed," he stated.

"No," she returned in a dangerous voice. "That's how they communicate. These aren't Erato ships."

Her skin had lit up fuchsia and her body coiled into a prepared stance. "There's a two meter opening on the aft navigational thruster. Their shields are raised, but that's a dead zone for their weapons. We can figure out a plan from there."

Before Chakotay could react, though, the shuttlecraft began shaking violently. "We've been tractored," he called over the vibrations. "Putting the shuttle in full reverse." He waited for a second. "No response. We could try going to warp, but that might cause a hull breech."

"Do it," she answered, powering up the ship's weapons. "I'm going to try and disrupt the beam by using a wide-band, high intensity phase spread. It won't go far, but it might disrupt the force of the tractor beam enough that we won't shear off the nacelles."

Instead, the entire shuttle went dark. "Main power's offline," Chakotay said. "We've switched to battery backup. Ideas?"

Se'tai looked Chakotay square in the eye. "Commander, I am willing to die to defeat my greatest enemy. All I need to do is walk into one of those ships and shed my blood. It would kill most within a few days. I would not, however, bring you with me if I could preserve your life."

"I would not leave you to die alone. Your enemy is my enemy."

"You don't understand. I would need to take off my protective garment. Without one, you will be infected. Even if you were to escape, you would die. But with the suit, you're restricted in movement and view."

He looked at her gleaming red body beneath the biohazard suit. The infection's fatality rates swam around his head. He thought back to Voyager's lattice of forcefields, all situated to keep the entire crew from falling prey to the Executioner. But more so, he thought of the impoverished planets whose populations had suffered for so long. He considered the billions of people who had died and who would die if these Bakloth were to return. What was a chance at being infected when he could save three colonies that Voyager just might rescue?

"Do it. I'll take my chances."

She stripped off her biohazard suit and left it crumpled in a corner. Se'tai wiped her sweating head off with a piece of cloth she tore from her uniform and gave a massive stretch. Then, she took the cloth and tied it about her forehead as a sort of bandana.

She looked at the commander, thankfully. "You are the first alien to breathe the same air as one of us in far too many years."

He held out his hand and she took it in a warm grasp. "And not the last. Voyager will be sure of that."

They went into the back of the ship to grab the phase rifles stored within. Both soldiers expertly maneuvered the weapons to readiness as Se'tai explained their strategy.

"Bakloth tend to attack in clumps of five or six. They're fast, accurate, and tough, but weak at the base of their neck. A phaser blast there can decapitate one, while a rifle butt can leave it unconscious. Bladed weapons are ineffectual against their armor. High-pitched noises are briefly disorienting, but they adapt quickly. If you can wire the shuttlecraft to emit a noise at 40,000 Hz, that will give us several seconds to bring them down."

"It'll be harder with main power offline, but I think I can use the life support system."

"Okay. I'll cover you." The Erato woman crouched against the door and tilted the point of her rifle at an angle that suggested she had hit that weak spot more than once in her life.

Chakotay ripped open the floor access panel. As he began to plunge his hands through the piles of wiring, he heard a commotion outside the door. Footsteps beating, voices calling, and the unmistakable sound of weapons being prepared for use.

"Quickly, commander," she demanded.

Chakotay shook his head. "It's no use. I can't control the frequency from down here. I'll need to get into a console up front."

"Nevermind. We'll push through without it."

He grabbed his rifle and stood opposite Se'tai. Metal being clanged on metal reverberated through the shuttlecraft. The Bakloth were overriding the shuttle controls and preparing to board them. He took off the safety and stared the Erato in the eye, who gave him a short nod.

"It has been an honor meeting you, Chakotay," she said. "I don't know if your people have gods, but I assure you that you'll be welcome in our afterlife."

The doors whooshed open and Se'tai sprang upward, firing a short burst into the air before dodging back behind the corner.

"Stand down, stand down," came the frantic yells from the other side. "By our scorched homeland, Se'tai. Put the damn rifle down."

Chakotay and the Consul exchanged a bit of silent communication. She clutched the weapon in front of herself and he cocked an eyebrow, then did a quick countdown. They both slid around the door and pointed the massive rifles at the assembled Erato.

As he slid around the door, Chakotay wondered what he would find. From the vivid descriptions of the Erato, he was expecting something vaguely organic, with a slimy black sheen that reeked of flesh. It would be appropriate for the repulsive nature of the soldiers to be extended into their vessels. So the clean metal plating and pale grey walls were unexpected, as was the assembly of forty armed, black-clad Erato. A few held tiered weapons with glowing green tips, but most were unarmed and standing in a ring around the shuttlecraft. Chakotay noted idly that this was the first time he'd seen a true sense of hierarchy from the Erato; not so surprising considering that all of his previous encounters, save one, had been with scientists.

He and Se'tai took a few steps forward and assessed their position. They were at the bottom of a long spiraling silo that vanished into blackness a hundred or so meters upward. Metal grates and massive ladders climbed their way up the walls. At regular intervals, the barely-visible edges of what appeared to be a retractable floor stuck out of the drab vertical surfaces. The shuttlecraft was in the center of a landing pad and clamped to the floor. Twin cables were hooked to the warp nacelles and pulsed in time with the idling engines, likely harnessing the power to keep Chakotay and Se'tai from activating the drive. He ripped a fixture off of the rifle and tossed it at the assembled Erato. Unsurprisingly, it bounced off the nearby forcefield and landed at his feet. They were caged and outnumbered. Not his favorite position.

His companion spoke first. "You know me, one of you. Come forward and face your foe. You've cornered us like wild beasts. Have the strength to bring down the hatchet with your own hand."

A blue-green man with a few strips of reddish cloth affixed to his pate moved forward through the crowd. His weapon was holstered at his side, but Chakotay saw the man's fingers twitch in readiness, as if he expected the first barrage of fire to come somehow from the entrapped Consul and commander. He stood at the edge of the barrier and spoke, or at least, tried to before Se'tai leapt forward.

"Emil Rancor. You live." A fierce light blazed in her grey eyes and she would have thrown herself towards him in happiness had not the forcefield been in her way.

"As do you, old cousin. I must say that I expected that you would have died in the service of our people, but then I remembered that you were too goddamn stubborn for that."

Her immediate gladness dissolved into anger. "What is the meaning of this ill treatment? And what are you doing to your scientists that she looks like you've been torturing her?"

He and his skin shifted uncomfortably, settling on a muted brown as he spoke. "I will answer the second question first. Our scientists are outnumbered and overworked. We have not yet hatched enough younglings to aid them, so they suffer." He opened his arms in a pleading gesture. "We have not yet gone so far, cousin, as to harm them. I promise."

She snorted angrily. "And the first?"

"We are under threat of being discovered, Se'tai; we cannot take chances with tricks. The fifth colony is still inhabited. Bakloth circle it and a city full of Erato labor beneath."

She processed his information with narrowed eyes and seething voice. "Too many to fight off?"

"By tenfold," he said sternly. "We have much to discuss, but first we must purge you of this toxin." He cast his eyes on Chakotay with a flutter of ribbons. "I am surprised that you would condemn an alien to share your fate."

"I'm not afraid to die when aiding an ally." He stared down the soldier. "You have a way of curing the infection, though?"

"We believe so."

The crowd of Erato rippled again and a white-swathed woman walked through them untouched. As she passed, they bowed their heads respectfully. Se'tai, too, seemed taken by the woman, enough that the Consul was almost shaking as she approached. Chakotay appraised the scientist as she approached. She was more frail than anyone he had met. The hollows of her cheeks stood out in a way that made her seem more reptilian than most of her kin. Her garb was ornate, embroidered with gold thread and tiny beads, and her bangles were replaced with tiny clanging cymbals that clashed and clattered with every step. The vivid blue of her skin was striking against her bleached garments, making even the soldier's hue seem pale by comparison.

She stood at the threshold beside Emil, but did not speak. Her eyes were a dulled milky red and they darted across his face in a quick evaluation. Clasping her hands in front of her, she watched him fidget uncomfortably.

"You must be Jelay's predecessor," Chakotay said.

"I am," she replied. Her voice was thin, hoarse, and scratchy.

"And you have manufactured a cure," said Se'tai, finding her voice in a respectful hush.

"Based on the information we have gleaned from your transmissions, we were able to recreate the plague and formulate its antidote. But we have not tested it on any creature. You would be the first."

The commander pondered his options while Se'tai spoke. "How is it that you have accomplished what even Jelay has not?"

"The Bakloth equipment is centuries more advanced than ours, child. Even my vaunted protégée would be hard pressed to do what we have done."

"Head Scientist, I would submit to your treatment." Se'tai bowed, then turned to Chakotay. "It is up to you. You may not be infected and, if you are, you may survive."

"If this will help you free your people, I will accept the treatment as well."

"Smart creature," said the ancient Erato. "We will transport the injection through the shield. It will take some time for it to work, if it does not kill you." She slowly eased herself to a cross-legged position. Two soldiers quickly ran up and knelt beside her, while Emil took up a position at her back.

"In the meantime, you must tell me all about our terrible worlds, including what is happening with my beloved granddaughter."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

"Captain, we have a problem" said Harry Kim, a bit of urgency in his voice.

"Explain, Mr. Kim."

"The probe got within range of the fifth planet, then went silent," he said quickly, displaying the data to his captain.

"Cause?"

"Unknown. There was no concurrent discharge or signal. It just vanished."

"An attack," said Janeway with alarm.

"Maybe. It didn't send back much data."

"Very well," she sat down in her chair. "Tuvok, keep shields at maximum. Mr. Kim, I want you to do a multiphasic sweep of all known frequencies. Look for signs of the debris or lingering evidence of phase fire. Check for subspace distortions. I want to know who is out there and where they've been. Mr. Paris, prepare to jump to warp at my command. We'll take a longer route to the shuttle rendezvous location. "

She tapped her comm. "B'Elanna, I want you to configure a stealth probe. Use a variant of the masking circuitry we picked up from the Kazon, but amplify its low-band emissions so that it resembles a piece of irradiated debris. Given the destruction around these colonies, it'll blend right in."

"Yes, captain."

Janeway settled into her chair. She didn't know who was there, but they already had an advantage. They knew that Voyager was coming. She needed to even the scales as much as possible.

It took several hours, but the newly configured probe reached the fifth colony without interruption, thanks to B'Elanna's modifications. The new probe was several thousand kilometers closer to the planet, enough to begin scanning for whatever had eliminated the first probe and whatever the fifth colony might hold.

She was not prepared for the data it returned.

"Captain, we're reading life signs. Thousands of them. There's also comm traffic, advanced scanning technology, orbital platforms." He looked up. "There's still a colony there. A functional colony."

"Mr. Kim, any sign of the Bakloth technology?"

"Yes ma'am. It's everywhere. The automated defenses and fighter legions around the planet match the specifications that the Erato sent us. But captain," he continued urgently. "The comm chatter is Erato. They're still alive down there."

"Captain," warned Tuvok. "This is likely a trap. Those without knowledge of the Bakloth would approach this as if it were a functioning colony and be quickly eradicated."

"Agreed, Mr. Tuvok. Harry, see if you can continue scanning. I want to know who is on that surface, what sort of technology is in place, and whether Voyager can withstand it. If there is even a chance that the Erato are still alive there, I want to find it."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Chakotay had had enough of ladders. He couldn't quite figure out why the curving interior of the asteroid base had almost no stairs and even fewer turbolifts. The glossy black walls were instead lined with worn metal rungs, wreathed in scaffolding to keep accidental falls to a minimum. The inhabitants had graciously provided him with a carabineer and offered to hoist him from floor to floor, but his pride dictated that he continue his climbing, even if his calves requested otherwise.

They'd been taken from room to room. Simple sleeping quarters, a mess hall, something that passed for a recreation room, and a surprisingly massive breeding chamber. Wading through the pools of birthing fluid, he sensed that he was one of a handful of outsiders to see the Erato's eggs and the only alien allowed to touch one. As such, his displeasure at having his uniform dampened was far outweighed by the profundity of the experience. His Erato hosts urged him to run his hands along the surface. The eggs were warm, with a texture that was pleasantly rough and almost leathery. At his touch, the life within shifted, and Chakotay swore he could feel the child pressing its hand against him.

Among the rainbow-hued eggs sat dozens of Erato in deep meditation. They were, from color alone, primarily women scientists. This was a reflection, he was informed, of the composition of their sparse complement. Women tended to imprint the eggs more quickly and the population was in dire need of scientists. There had been two generations of clutches that had begun their training, but they were still children. It was enough to balance their numbers, but not enough to progress their research as quickly as they'd hoped.

After the tour, Se'tai and Chakotay were brought into a control room. A young woman, whom Se'tai indicated as a lower-ranking soldier, maneuvered herself onto one of the glistening black towers along the wall. With a flick of her long pink fingers, she lit up the room around the baffled commander and Legatus.

"I suppose you're curious about what we've learned about our attackers."

"That would be an understatement, Principes" demanded the Legatus. "As lovely as it has been touring the facilities, we actually need your help."

"Yes ma'am," she said, cowering slightly before the rankled Legatus. "Realize that we've been trying to scrape together history from a warship's database, which has given us little information." She bared her rows of glistening teeth in some vague approximation of a conciliatory smile, then pointed to a ringed display that had silently risen behind them.

A stunning array of planets and moons, spread out around a thousand stars, swirled into place and began circling the trio. Chakotay recognized some clusters from his studies with Seven of Nine and pointed to the systems as they travelled above his head. "Those are the Ocampa and Kazon homeworlds," he said with wonderment. "The Akritarian homeworld. That's the edge of Borg space." He looked back at his host. "This is a complete map of the delta quadrant."

"Correct, commander," she said, then colored a deep ochre. "The Bakloth have extensive maps of the entire galaxy, including what is most likely your homeworld. Clearly, whomever sent them had incredible means of travel."

Chakotay was seized with a sense of urgency. "Could we use this technology to propel Voyager back into the alpha quadrant?"

"I doubt it, commander. All attempts to initiate anything but short-jump phased drives and warp technology have met with failure. Much of it is far beyond our ability to comprehend. I apologize, sir."

"It is alright, Principes. Please, go on." By this point in their journey, he had become used to the cascading disappointments of unusable technology and fragile wormholes. It no longer bothered him.

"The records seem to indicate that the Bakloth are from the future. Our future, specifically, one in which a terrible catastrophe has befallen much of the galaxy, centering around our homeworld."

She brought up a map and hit a few curved buttons on the console. A spreading blackness emanated from their sector of the galaxy and, second by second, began to obliterate everything in its path. The darkness undulated and consumed star systems like a massive tumor. Tendrils extended from the middle and wrapped their way across nebulae and asteroid fields, crushing them. By the time the simulation was complete, most of the delta and gamma quadrants were replaced by a void.

The commander watched the destruction in awe. If the fourth planet's bombardment had been terrible, this was unfathomable. Se'tai found her voice first.

"So the Bakloth came back to destroy us to prevent us from initiating this destruction," she suggested. "But the plague foiled their plans." She stopped and thought more deeply.

"No, that doesn't fit at all. Remember their pattern of attacks? They actually backed off when faced with military resistance, then came down twice as hard on civilian populations. Urban population centers were crushed first, then military expansions, almost as an afterthought. We thought that this was to demoralize us, but it was more, wasn't it? The Bakloth didn't want us killed. They wanted us crippled."

The Principes nodded. "We came to that conclusion as well. Decimate our population to restrict our growth without eliminating us altogether. Perhaps even force us into isolating ourselves or taking drastic measures as only we could.

"That sounds positively Erato in its planning," said Se'tai, her coloration a dangerous red.

"That is our best guess, yes. We believe that sometime in our future, we will decide to cripple our ancestors." She sighed and fidgeted with the charms around her wrists. "They chose a point at which we'd be technologically advanced enough to withstand their assault but not advanced enough to hold off their invading armies." With another hand wave, she dismissed the display and began retreating towards the hanger.

"Then why are you still here," Se'tai demanded. "If you believe their purpose is finished, shouldn't you have come to rescue your people?"

"We cannot leave. The Bakloth remain in the sector. The Yar colony has been overtaken by the Bakloth, who have settled there with a large population of Erato."

Chakotay watched the Legatus unfurl herself into blindingly fast strike that knocked down the Principes in a single, brutal movement. The younger woman collided with the console and was briefly dazed, which was all that Se'tai required to lift the other Erato and hurl her across the room, where she smashed into a wall, crumpled into a heap, and did not rise again.

In her fury, she turned towards Chakotay, her eyes reeling and her lips pulled tightly across her terrifying teeth. She hissed, but did not attack him. Instead, she whirled around and dispatched a second soldier in the same way before he could stop her.

"Se'tai, please. This isn't going to get what you need," he said, drawing upon his supposedly comforting presence. In the face of her wrath, it was woefully insufficient.

In return, she emanated a roar of fury and lunged at the small cadre of soldiers who entered the room. It took a full dozen to restrain her adequately for a trim soldier to approach and eye her coldly. She was nearly half a meter shorter than Se'tai and clad in a greyish shift that made her seem even smaller. Chakotay guessed that was deliberate. In a race of giants, being unnoticed would be a significant tactical advantage.

"Distasteful, Se'tai. There are so few of us. To injure seems decidedly imprudent."

"You. Will. Address Me. By my title, you child. And what is prudence when you conceal information? This man's ship is entering that territory, but all you have done is shown us your living quarters, wasting precious time and condemning them to death by our enemies. Why was this kept from me?"

"Because, Legatus," she said with false deference. "We knew you would want to go and save these aliens. It is too late. The Bakloth have already moved to intercept them. We are sorry, but we cannot risk our safety in a futile battle."

"Futile," Se'tai snarled. "Centurion, you forget your place. Your duty is to protect those who need it, not to float in your little fortress and wait for our enemies to get bored."

"Our duty was to rebuild enough to take out their force. We can't," she retorted. "We have enough ships for a single sortie, maybe two. Then, we're helpless and you are all condemned to ruin."

"That is where you're wrong, child. That ship has research that can cure our plague. Your countermeasure is flawed, limited, and potentially deadly. Theirs will work. Yet here you are, hiding like a frightened snake, while they die and take their progress with them."

"Their research can be duplicated. These ships cannot. You are being short-sighted, Se'tai. We will remain here."

"I command you to go forth."

"You have no power here, Se'tai. You lost that when you remained behind and failed to defend us."

The Legatus wrenched herself free, leapt forward, and sank her sharpened jaws into the girl's neck. The Centurian tried to struggle away, but Se'tai's strength and rage was too much. The girl slumped to the floor and Se'tai kicked her away. The other guards stood silently, not daring to intervene.

"Any who wishes to challenge me may do so now. Otherwise, I am taking charge of this base. Prepare the carrier and two battleships. We will launch to the fifth colony and save our allies."

No one stepped forward. She spat a few commands and the base sprang into action. Klaxons began to sound and the consoles around them erupted into red and blue lights. Emitters projected three-dimensional constructs of nearby space. Waveforms and data streamed in rolling columns before the scientists and soldiers who had dashed to their battle stations. A few lesser soldiers ran breathlessly to her and gave their reports. She nodded to them and shouted something. The ladders around them clanged with new activity. Her word and will was absolute. For the first time in many decades, the Erato were going to war.

Chakotay stood back, not wanting to interfere. He backed slowly towards the bleeding Centurion. Trails of blood had stained her garments from jagged cuts in her neck. He reached his hand down and took her wrist, not wanting to put further pressure on her injury. A weak fluttering signaled that the solider was not yet dead, much to his surprise.

"I did not kill her, Chakotay, nor any of the others." said Se'tai, towering over him in her raging red skin. "Out of respect for you and your people, she will live, albeit with my marks on her." Two scientists appeared and dragged the fallen soldiers out the control room.

Chakotay and Se'tai walked towards the largest console display. "They tell me we can launch in twenty minutes. I am trying to speed up the process, but I trust their estimates. I must look over our battle plans. " She shook her head. "I am sorry, Chakotay. Had I known, I would have taken command earlier."

"There was no way you could have known."

"And yet."

Another pair of warriors scuttled towards her. They were wiry and tall, but thinner than any Erato he had met. Their eyes seemed wider and, to his surprise, they had the remnants of hair on their domed heads. These must be adolescents, he guess, which was confirmed by Se'tai's indulgent smile as they approached. She allowed them to prostrate themselves in front of her. She touched each of their heads with a fond hand and they rose. Each held a set of intricate armor, topped by a colossal helm.

"Thank you, hatchlings. You may dress me as I prepare." With trembling hands, one began to unwrap her garments and replace them with the layers of metal and leather. The other bowed deeply to Chakotay, but did not move to do the same. Set'ai talked to him, half-distracted by the flashing display.

"You would honor us, Chakotay, to don our battle dress. It is as much ceremonial as practical. There are layers of multiphasic shielding that can deflect a phaser blast, solid plates to defend against projectiles, and a number of compartments for concealed weapons." She indicated the second set of armor next to her.

"They have chosen a Legate's rank for you, though I fear they will need to wrap it to compensate for your form." She turned towards the console and began reading the logistics gleaned from the asteroid's probes concealed around the fifth colony.

Chakotay contemplated the chaos around him, then extended his arms towards the small Erato warrior. "Show me how to put this on, but make it so that my uniform is still visible" He would ride to battle, clad in their armor, but still a proud member of Voyager's crew.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Janeway gripped the edges of her chair as another shock went through the ship, flinging her body forward but failing to dislodge her fully. Harry Kim, standing at ops, was not so lucky. She heard his body hit his station with an audible thud and pained exhalation. The rest of the bridge remained intact, though Janeway suspected that given the severity of the assault, that wouldn't be true for much longer.

"Shields at 10% and holding," reported Tuvok. "Minor damage to the deflector. Inertial dampeners are offline. A plasma fire has broken out on deck 8."

"Fire a spread of photon torpedoes." The brilliant stars of the torpedoes shot towards the looming ship, which effortlessly shot four down with red pinpoint lasers. The remaining two were tractored and flung back towards Voyager.

"Evasion pattern delta three," commanded the captain. The ship lurched under Paris' expert fingers and the torpedoes sailed past, barely glancing the buckling aft shields. Janeway glared at the massive Bakloth ship in front of her. It was obviously toying with Voyager. Two brief bursts of their weapons in the space of five seconds had dropped their shields by 90%, while Voyager's phasers and photon torpedoes had done no noticeable damage to their opponent's shields. Now, the Bakloth were playing tennis with their projectiles. This was not what she had come to expect from the Bakloth. From what Se'tai had said, they were mindless and brutal, not calculating and taunting.

"Still no response to our hails, captain," called Harry Kim.

"Keep trying," she answered, standing up again and walking to the view screen, where the Bakloth battleship loomed. There had been no warning. One moment, Voyager had been scanning the surface and the next, the curving black ship had phased into view and open fired. Clearly, whatever colony of Erato that the probe had found was under the surveillance of the Bakloth. Now, though, Voyager's sensors were being blocked and their focus had shifted to the immediate threat of the superior ship in front of them.

The immensity of the Bakloth cruiser had been well conveyed by the Erato's detailed military records. The adjustments Voyager had made to her weapons and shields were based in part on Se'tai's experiences of being brutalized by her enemy. There was nothing, though, that could fully quench the uneasiness of being dwarfed by a warship the size of a small starbase. The pitch-black hull indicated no visible means of propulsion, nor did it display evidence of its weapons array. Its sloping front was uncomfortably organic, reminding Janeway faintly of the macrovirus that had taken over the ship two years ago.

Janeway recognized a futile fight when she saw one. The colony below would need to wait until Voyager could regroup and come up with a better plan. She sat back down.

"Mr. Paris. Take us away. Maximum impulse."

"Yes ma'am." His hands danced over the console and Voyager maneuvered away from the planet.

A green hue enveloped the ship, stopping it in mid-turn and causing a massive vibration to reverberate through the hull. Around the bridge, consoles began to short out with sizzling yellow and red sparks.

"Plasma conduits have ruptured on all decks," stated Tuvok. "Switching to secondary power system."

A panicked call came up from engineering and B'Elanna's voice filled the bridge. "Captain, whatever they're doing is overloading the plasma injectors. We're getting a buildup of warp plasma down here."

"Mr. Tuvok, see if you can modify the deflector dish to initiate some sort of resonance. Torres, increase power to the magnetic constrictors. Sever part of the connection to the matter-antimatter reaction chamber to drop the flow of plasma."

Another shudder went across the ship. "The deflector modification has had no effect. Shields have failed. Structural integrity fields are holding," replied the Vulcan.

The lights on the bridge went dark, then came up again as the emergency lighting kicked in. The green glow disappeared, releasing the ship again.

"Tom, get us out of here."

"Helm is not responding," he said, then amended his statement with a few taps. "I have regained partial helm control. Moving at one quarter impulse away from the Bakloth ship."

Janeway tapped her communicator. "Torres, report."

A garbled series of chirps emitted from the communications system, which then went silent.

"Captain, I have limited sensor readings from engineering. The plasma flow has been restricted and the plasma injector temperature has dropped," stated Harry Kim.

Once again, the Bakloth battlecruiser ceased its attack as Voyager began to limp away. It followed the ship as she slowly moved out of Erato space. That was, of course, until a second Bakloth ship materialized in front of them and fired a yellow beam that sliced through Voyager's hull with a screeching whine.

Janeway was flung backwards and slammed her head on the headrest. Tom Paris was thrown out of his chair, hitting the deck with a loud thud. She simultaneously heard the sound of Harry Kim going over his console and collapsing to the floor, unconscious. A loud ringing in her ears made her voice sound distant and muffled as she tried to talk over the din of exploding metal.

"Damage report."

"The starboard nacelle has taken heavy damage. We are venting warp plasma. Hull breeches on decks three, four, five, ten, and twelve. Life support is failing."

The klaxon sounded and the computer's voice pierced the darkened bridge. "Warning. Warp containment breech in progress. Complete containment failure in three minutes."

"Eject the warp core," she demanded hoarsely.

"Unable to comply. Controls are not responding," said Tuvok. His dark face seemed more dour than usual. "Captain, we need to evacuate immediately."

"Do it," she said, sending the order throughout the ship. She hoped that what was left of the communications circuitry could get the order to whomever was still alive.

Tuvok didn't turn around to urge her out of the bridge. He merely put one shoulder under Harry Kim and began dragging him towards the escape pod beneath them. He did the same with Tom Paris. But before he could bring them down the emergency hatch, a wall of smoke consumed the back of the bridge. There would be no going through, not without the chance of serious burns. Tuvok placed the unconscious ensigns away from the door and stood next to the captain. They both gazed at the silent Bakloth ships before them.

"What do they want, Tuvok," she asked quietly. "They could kill us with a single blast, but they're just waiting."

"I cannot fully speculate on their intent, but their actions seem to suggest that they want us crippled."

"Which confirms my suspicion that these are not Bakloth. These are ships piloted by some other operator, one who has extremely different motives than the Erato's invaders."

The klaxon interrupted their thoughts. "Warning. Warp containment breech in progress. Complete containment failure in two minutes."

She faced her dear friend and security officer and bowed her head. "I think I have said it before, Tuvok, but it has been an honor and a pleasure serving with you."

"Likewise, captain," he acknowledged.

As they watched, a quartet of Bakloth ships emerged from the phase transition. Two battle cruisers and what Janeway recognized as a heavy carrier appeared in an undulating flash of light. The carrier rotated ominously and released a flurry of small fighters, which began firing on Voyager's attackers.

The fourth ship, a non-descript grey oval, broke formation and came alongside Voyager. To Janeway's surprise, the unusual Bakloth ship engulfed Voyager in a beam of blue energy. All around the bridge, the lights came back on and the consoles sprang to life. Red alert ceased and the computer announced, "Warp containment field has been reestablished."

With confusion visible on his usually placid face, Tuvok moved to his place on the bridge. "Captain, we are being surrounded by some sort of energy field. It is providing auxiliary power to all systems."

Harry Kim had regained consciousness and clambered back to his post, which flickered orange and yellow across his bruised face. "We're being hailed," he said, joy tingeing his young voice. "It's from one of the battle cruisers. I mean, one of the ones that isn't attacking us."

"Onscreen," she said, breathing easier for the first time in several minutes.

Chakotay's worried face, partially obscured by a massive helm, filled the viewscreen. "We got here as soon as we could, captain. There was a fair amount of arguing over whether this was the best course of action, but Se'tai prevailed."

"You are a welcome sight, Chakotay. I assume these are ships from the asteroid base."

"Yes," he said, then quickly cut the communication. Janeway's concern turned to realization as the viewscreen filled with the beginnings of another battle.

The two ships that had attacked Voyager were engaged in a firefight with the asteroid fleet. The nimble cloud of fighters evaded most of the pinpoint lasers, though some met their noble death at the hands of the Bakloth. She watched as they focus-fired the battle cruiser that had cut through Voyager's starboard nacelle. The carrier turned again, opened its metal arms until it resembled the gaping maw of an octopus, and fired. A thick, yellow beam shot forth from the center of the carrier and enveloped the battle cruiser. It erupted into a shower of flames and sparking metal. The other battlecruiser lit up blue along its edges, but the carrier and both battleships encased it in the same green tractor that the battlecruiser had used on Voyager.

Janeway raised her eyebrows. In their time in the Delta Quadrant, Voyager had seen an array of impressive, almost ridiculously superior, firepower. This, however, would give even species 8472 pause. An energy weapon that could almost vaporize a battlecruiser was something not to be trifled with. She understood, fully, why the Erato had chosen the path they did. Even a handful of these ships could have crushed much of the Federation.

"We're being hailed again."

"Onscreen," she said, pacing forward towards the empty helm.

A brilliant orange mask greeted her. Talons arched menacingly from the scalp and jawline. Gleaming dagger-like bangles dripped down from the upper arches and threw reflections around the curving, organic background of the ship. The eyes were blank and meshed over, giving the impression of looking at someone blinded by the rays of the sun. Flowing from the edges of the mask were layers of studded leather and tight-fitting metal plates. A Klingon might envy the ornate and glowering look of the warrior before her.

"I am Ca-"

"Captain Janeway," said Se'tai from behind her helm, "We apologize for the damage done to your ship. As you can imagine, it was difficult to convince our kin that they should break their long exile to save a group of strangers. Let us say that there will be no question any longer."

"It is greatly appreciated," replied Janeway, still awed at the magnificent display of armor. There was something to be said for looking the part when journeying into battle, especially against a deadly and awful foe.

Se'tai made a signal towards her bridge crew and her voice immediately changed.

"Bakloth ship. You will surrender. You have limited reinforcements, else you would have brought them to bear upon us. It would take us seconds to tear you apart and seconds more to scour the phase transitions for your kinsmen. Stand down and we shall merely board and overtake your ship."

Janeway held her breath as the screen went blank.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

"Dammit," swore Mileena, feeling the ship rock again as it took heavy fire from the Bakloth vessel. There had been several such jolts in quick succession, indicating that the shields were beginning to buckle and that power to the inertial dampers was being rerouted to more crucial systems. That meant that everyone on the ship who was at a duty station was being tossed around onto their consoles, which Mileena found perpetually ridiculous. Freighters had seatbelts and chairs; why didn't starships?

Unlike everyone else, though, she was secured to her heavy chair to keep the array of microtransducers from being ripped out of their ports. The movement of the ship barely jostled her, for which she was perpetually grateful. It would be time-consuming to replace the two dozen or so broken tips that would snap off with more than a few Newtons of pressure.

Looking around quickly, she confirmed that Lauren had beamed all the Erato back into their shuttlebay, along with their data. The biphasic cure was still in its fledgling stages, but there was so much promise and hope. Even if Voyager were destroyed, the information they had gathered and sent back to the home colonies meant that the plague might be cured in two lifetimes instead of in ten. She hated having her work interrupted by yet another useless battle.

She closed her eyes and directed her focus on the computer once again. It had been her duty from day one to manage the bioneural gel's efficacy during red alerts. From the simple consoles on the outer terminal, she'd only been able to monitor hotspots and try to balance the load. The construction of the supercomputer had given her more control; she could divert some of its cycles to speed up targeting and helm responsiveness, though no one was truly aware of that besides Pablo and Lauren. Everyone else just thought that Lieutenant Paris and Lieutenant Tuvok had become more skilled at their jobs.

Now, though, the direct interface gave her access to the entirety of the ship's network, which arched before her computer-enhanced subconscious like a massive branching tree. Each tiny node of bioneural gel was like a fluttering leaf. She could see where they burned and see where they broke. She could see where they were overpowered and see where they were underpowered. She had no idea how this was happening; the interface wasn't supposed to let her much past the supercomputer, but that would be a debate for another time and another diagnostic. As it was, the interchange chime was warning her that it would disconnect her if she progressed much farther into the computer.

Even concentrating on her physical body, she found that she could enhance the bioneural gel's function. Mileena started minute redistributions of connectivity that could only help the crucial propulsion, weapons, and defense systems. Gel that once served to power the replicators was repurposed to the shield generators. The lightbulbs in everyone's rooms dimmed to emergency levels as she shifted their connections a few meters outward to reinforce the structural integrity fields. She could bolster power and she could make the gel learn faster. It was beautiful. For the first time since she'd come onto Voyager, she felt like she was making a difference.

She mentally climbed to the bridge, but found that bioneural gel activity washed over her in a dizzying blur. The flurry of hands across consoles and the constant fluctuation of high-level commands were beyond her ability to comprehend. For a moment, she imagined she could feel the captain's presence, her solid jawline and unbreakable will pushing the ship's every action towards victory. Of course, it was just a sensation borne of her longing for a connection, but it was a pleasant vision nonetheless.

A blackness emerged in Mileena's field of sensation. The helm controls and ops had just lost their standard connections. She rerouted the stations through a nearby bioneural gel pack and the blackness lifted. At least for now, the helm and sensor arrays would respond. Another sensation, like a call to arms, signaled that she should push her consciousness down to engineering.

A flash of pain went through her and she opened her eyes. The bioneural gel packs near the warp core were beginning to scorch. Not good, she whispered. Backwashing the feeling of bioneural damage was going to be too dangerous.

"Computer, dampen connections on ports 1, 4, and 6. Shift processing load to auxiliary computer in proteomics."

The supercomputer beside her whined as she pushed it further. It had been working on helping the main computer remodulate the shields against the constant barrage from the Bakloth. Now, she asked it to take on the responsibility of compensating for the failing gel in Engineering. It probably could handle it without burning out itself, though she couldn't help it along right now.

Mileena felt her physical surroundings more keenly now that the ports had dropped some of their activity. She had no interest in being absorbed into the ship any more than was absolutely necessary to operate the direct interface. She had promised everyone that much. For a moment, she hesitated to reengage the connection, then plunged back in, trying to figure out how much more she could optimize the already straining systems.

Somewhere between reinforcing a plasma conduit on deck six and trying to shunt a coolant leak in a Jefferies tube, she heard the computer sound a warning that chilled her blood in an instant.

"Warning: Hull breech imminent on deck four, section 6."

"Okay, " Mileena said to herself. "Okay. No need to panic. It's just a matter of throwing up the safety protocols. Trust them as you have so many times before."

"Computer, commence emergency isolation pattern Irae Gamma 3, authorization code alpha one alpha four rho seven. Divert all power in outer lab to forcefield containment and engage cubic bulkhead reinforcements on my mark. Implement extraction procedures and send commands to list items one through eleven."

The forcefields glowed a powerful turquoise as the emitters sucked the power from the remaining Erato equipment and the derelict Daystrom console. She knew that the whole of the wet lab was now encased in layers of forcefields that were second only to the structural integrity fields in their strength. Which, of course, is what they were intended to support and, if need, supplant in this sort of emergency. However, she hoped it wouldn't come to that.

She plunged herself mentally back into the bioneural network, trying to push every ounce of energy to maintaining the structural integrity field. Things went offline all over the ship. In astrometrics, Seven was suddenly frustrated to find that all her simulations had been put into pause. In transporter room two, Lauren looked at her partially blacked-out console and called, "Mileena, I need that back." But a second warning from the computer about hull breeches all over the ship made her respond, "Nevermind. Keep us all alive."

Mileena turned her mind back to engineering. The overheating plasma injectors had ruptured two gel packs, crippling the ensign's ability to manipulate them. She searched for any remaining tangle of cellular material and desperately attempted to keep the synapses intact. Lieutenant Torres was trying to boost power to the magnetic constrictors, but the connections were tenuous and overloaded. The science officer found a way through and waited for the computer to acknowledge her. This was not the time for the automatic break program to initiate, not when she could keep the ship from exploding. Mercifully, the computer agreed and engineering suddenly found itself able to operate some of its equipment.

"Warning. Hull breech commencing on deck four, section six." It was a warning that no one but she could hear. She'd had Lieutenant Carey arrange the extra warning when she had him design and implement the secondary safeties. It told her that she was running out of time.

"Computer, mark," she yelled. In a wave of sparkles, a massive duranium plate materialized and welded itself over the door to the wet lab. She heard the other pieces lock into place around her, sealing her into her lab. And then, the worst noise in the world.

It was a roaring like a great metal lion, the sound of the bulkheads behind her shearing away from the rest of the ship as the heat from the phasers and photon torpedoes destroyed the duranium's molecular bonds. There was the awful whooshing as the interior of the ship became exposed to the unrelenting vacuum of space, followed by a series of crashes as the deck and walkways on either side of proteomics began to give way and twist into heaps of malformed metal. The walls on deck four warped and massive crossbeams collapsed across the doors. Showers of sparks shot out and ignited minor, then major, plasma fires that ripped through the interior and shorted out the electronics. This, Mileena knew, because she had seen it before. She had watched the world fall away as she had sat within this very space. She tried not to panic. It would be counterproductive to panic. It would be fatal if she panicked.

"Computer, status report," she demanded. It didn't acknowledge her command with so much as a beep. She was cut off.

Safe within the wet lab, Mileena tried to reach out through her ports to the ship, but found that even with full concentration, should couldn't push herself very far. The junctions between deck four and the remainder of the ship had been all but severed by the hull breech and secondary explosions. There was a thin thread of connection that she could mentally navigate, but she realized that there was precious little she could do for Voyager at the moment.

Mileena looked up at the steadily glowing lights of the wet lab. The backup generator that Neelix had procured for her, through much haggling and brilliant negotiating, was keeping her tiny safehouse operational, and would for some time. She tried to assess her situation.

"CRE, what is your status," she said quietly.

A warm male voice sounded through the tiny room. "CRE is in standby mode." She smiled. It was a good choice to have given the supercomputer such a pleasant, soothing tone. After all, she'd only use it when cut off from the main computer, at which point she'd need all the help she could get keeping herself from going insane.

"CRE, can you disengage the ports on the bioneural console?"

"I can comply." The needles slid smoothly out of her arms and the clamps disengaged from around her ankles and wrists. She hopped out of the chair and looked around, shaking her head. Well, everything seemed to be holding in place so far.

She walked the three steps to the newly formed bulkhead and rested her cheek on it, then closed her pale yellow eyes, hearing nothing from beyond the door. The cool metal muffled whatever was going on outside. That, or the wetlab had been ejected into space and she was floating in her coffin. She preferred to believe that she was still attached to Voyager.

"CRE, how much information do you have about the proximal decks at this moment?"

"Based on last known data, deck four, sections 6 through 12, deck three, sections 5 through 13, and deck 5, sections 5 through 12 have all suffered serious damage."

"How many have breeched?"

"As of last count, decks four and five."

She swallowed hard. Not a good sign. She pressed her forehead against the bulkhead and asked another series of questions.

"Do you have any sensor information regarding the status of the structural integrity field around section six?"

"External sensors suggest that the structural integrity field has failed in section six on decks three, four, and five."

Mileena covered her face with her hands and sat down heavily in her chair, then bent over to rest her arms on her trembling knees. The hull had breeched and the structural integrity field had collapsed. The only thing between her and death from decompression were three forcefields and a strip of duranium mere centimeters thick. It would probably hold. It had before. But for how long?

"CRE, based on last available data, how long will it take for the ship to be repaired enough for me to leave the wet lab?"

It chirped a little, then replied. "72 to 96 hours. The computer conveyed extensive exterior damage on all decks, including several vital stations, before it went offline."

She swallowed and shivered. CRE had excellent estimating capacity. If it said three days, it meant three days. She inventoried the wet lab mentally. There were rations and crude sanitary facilities, so she could ride out the repairs without too much effort. However, without the structural integrity field, the backup generator would have a much harder time maintaining comfortable life support. In a few hours, she'd be frigid and gasping. Seventy two hours of choking on carbon dioxide while her body hovered near freezing sounded awful. She'd done it once before and wasn't anxious to repeat the experience.

Walking around the lab, she gently sealed up the bioneural console and locked its top into place. She dropped the supercomputer down to its baseline and prepared it to be shut off at her command. Next, she opened a small, disused cabinet in the corner of proteomics and pulled out a handful of equipment, followed by a tightly-packed box of chemicals. She took a long metal stand and, with trembling hands, screwed it into a tiny panel on the floor of proteomics. It was capped by a ridged metal tray, on top of which, she placed a primitive infuser and confirmed that the push pattern was to her liking.

The box was popped open and she inspected the chemicals within. One by one, she took them out and screwed the pulsing bags of variegated liquid into the waiting slots on the infuser. With a deft hand, she pierced each with a needle and quickly slid on a connector, pushing out a tiny bit of fluid until the bubbles were clear. The outflows were neatly brought together until they all fed into a single massive chamber with an extended needle attached. Then, she laid it aside.

One by one, she put the flesh-colored caps back into the ports on her arms and hands. She knew that what she was doing was going to be traumatic to her body regardless. Adding an extra dimension of having open wounds in her little coffin would make any recovery a hundred times more difficult. They smoothly slid into place and locked snugly over the metal ridges. She flexed her fingers and bent her arms, maneuvering the implants into their optimal configuration, then went about the rest of her task.

Her final action was to unseal another panel at the back of proteomics and to drag out an ancient ventilation mask, which she draped over the top of the chair. She fiddled around with the pump and confirmed that it was correctly hooked up to the perfluorocarbon fluid chamber, then flicked on the motor. A thin stream of liquid oozed out of the mask onto the chair, and she suppressed a wave of nausea. Everything was ready.

She sat back into the chair and tapped her wrist, then pushed the needle into it and wrapped it in place with a strip of Velcro. With her free hand, she tapped the infuser, giving it a five minute countdown before pushing the first liquid.

"CFE, monitor my life signs. When my heart rate has reached approximately ten beats per minute, begin liquid breathing apparatus." She slipped the breathing mask over her face. The viscous perfluorocarbon would replace the thinning air within the wet lab, delivering a higher level of oxygenation to her soon-to-be unconscious form. It could be powered and cleaned with greater ease than conventional life support, albeit with the drawback of filling her lungs with fluid.

"Acknowledged."

"Seal wrist, ankle, and chest restraints across the interface chair."

"Acknowledged."

Mileena felt the metal bands tighten around her and leaned her head back.

"Commence transient cryonic program." The lights dimmed around her and she heard the sound of the standard equipment powering off to save energy. The last thing she heard was the computer's acknowledgement: "Sweet dreams, Mileena."

Mileena dreamed. Her drifting intellect corrected herself. It wasn't a dream. It was a hypnogogic hallucination brought on by the fourth of the intravenous drugs that were preparing her for what Lauren jokingly called cold storage. She counted them to ease her way down. Sedation, first, to quell the panic. Second, a somatosensory block, to guarantee loss of sensation. Third, a motor neuron block, to paralyze her. This was the anesthetic stage, which induced unconsciousness. The fifth and sixth reconfigured her hemoglobin to carry extra oxygen and release it more slowly, while the seventh slowly dropped her body temperature below freezing. The eighth, to reverse all the effects on command. And the final ninth was only released if the others were not disengaged after a set time. It was a gentle poison that would painlessly finish the job if no one else were alive to bring her back.

They dripped in a rhythmic tattoo, impervious to temperature or vacuum, while being slowly clicked forward by an ancient infuser with its own simple battery source. Now that the anesthetic was pulsing through her veins, she could feel her mind lift itself from her body. It was good, she whispered to her dream-self, to leave this place. Her lingering connection with the ship, transmitted through the implants in her skull, felt like hands slipping away from each other. When she woke, she promised the ship, she would rebuild it all.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Se'tai's pronouncement had been met with silence, at least at first. The blue hum of the support ship gave Voyager an unearthly, peaceful air even though Janeway knew that her ship was perilously close to coming part at the seams. She sat down and rubbed her head. There were hundreds of man-hours of repairs to be made. How much longer were they going to need to spend in this terrible space?

"We're being hailed, captain," interrupted ensign Kim. "It's the Bakloth ship. The attacker."

The screen sprang to life and Janeway felt her jaw clench. Instead of the bulging horror she had expected, a sharp-featured Erato glowered down at her. His bald blue-black head was scaly and affixed with metal knobs that looked to have been welded to its skull. Instead of smooth robes and flowing fabrics, his uniform was also adorned with overlapping plates and wrapping chains that would not have been out of place on the body of a Klingon. He bared a band of teeth at her, but Janeway got the first word.

"I am Captain Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager. I demand to know why you fired on us," she barked, her eyes narrowing and her body flushing with a ripple of adrenaline.

"I am Caron Vornad, Triarch of the Erato. I command this vessel." He clenched a long-fingered fist at the captain and leaned forward in his chair.

Tuvok glanced up from his console. "That title is not used by the Erato," he observed quietly, "nor is it a historical term."

Janeway noted his answer. "Triarch, if you are truly Erato, you would know that Voyager is here on a mission of mercy to re-establish communication among the colonies. We carry scientists, not soldiers."

"If you actually know the Erato, captain," said the Triarch, "You would know that the scientists are the most dangerous of our people. And I am aware of your mission. We have been monitoring your communications since you entered our sector."

"Your sector," said Janeway, walking towards the charred pieces of the helm controls. "We were led to believe that all Erato in this area had been wiped out by the Bakloth."

"Raptors? Hah," he said, slamming his hand down on the chair. "They're bioengineered footsoldiers, nothing more, designed to do maximum damage with minimum equipment. They are our scientists' greatest achievement and part of our undoing."

Janeway made the leap she had been carefully considering. "You are from a future that sent the Bakloth to your past." The Triarch nodded. "What reason could you have for killing your own ancestors?"

"To prevent them from murdering trillions of sentient beings due to their own ignorance and hubris."

Janeway took a shuddering breath. She recalled Voyager's near-destruction by captain Braxton, a 29th century time agent, who believed that the ship would inadvertently wipe out the Sol system. It would seem that the Erato were trying to do something similar on a far larger scale.

"Explain," she commanded.

"In the 30th century, an experimental Erato device created during our civil war sets off an uncontrollable chain reaction that causes a failure in quantum entanglement. The matter of the galaxy will to become unraveled as subatomic particles stop interacting with each other." The Erato had transformed its belligerence into a focused loathing. "When I left, most of the Delta and Beta quadrants were nothing more than an expansive black hole."

"Your mission, then, was to somehow turn the course of history to avoid that level of catastrophe by committing genocide against your own people? Wouldn't that cause a paradox," wondered Janeway.

The Triarch snorted. "Our goal was to win, not to obliterate our people. The Triarch covenant decided that the best way to avoid our future squabbling was to reduce the percentage of scientists in our past population. Bringing equality to our castes would keep the warriors from becoming frustrated appendages of a technologically-advanced, passion-bereft swamp."

"Did you succeed," said Janeway bitterly, her thoughts drifting to the cadre of very-much-alive scientists who were no doubt intently monitoring their conversation. Perhaps Se'tai's underling, who had remained behind while she left with Chakotay, was clustering them together in his protective arms. Perhaps all of them had huddled together to rage and weep over their future and their past. Or perhaps the hull breech had cost them their lives. She couldn't know right then.

The coloration of the Erato did not shift as anticipated, but his tone took on a harsher undercurrent. "We underestimated the devotion of the populace to its scientists. Our soldiers' efforts to pick out the scientists without seriously harming the artisan or warrior castes were in vain. No matter how many times we redeployed them or reconfigured their strategy, the footsoldiers faced a united, desperate front bent on survival. And once the plague was released, our casualties began to mount beyond our ability to compensate. We withdrew."

Janeway considered the sensor readings from Tuvok as they entered the sector. Fifteen thousand Erato interspersed with unknown life signs sounded quite a bit like the remainders of a fighting force stranded thousands of years from home. In every time travel situation, the protocol was to settle innocuously among the populace or in a deserted section of space until time progressed far enough. There wasn't a fitting empty planet nearby, so they must have created one for themselves. A genocide of convenience. The bile that rose in her throat ripped from her body as she finally began to lose her temper.

"And obliterated two colonies so you could rebuild your fighting force while hoping that the plague would weaken the enemy?" She made a sweeping gesture with an open palm. "What of your contention that you were here only to reduce the population? The colonies had millions of innocents."

"Spare me your lecture, captain," interrupted the Triarch. "We grieved for our ancestors, but we had no choice. Returning without fulfilling our purpose was not an option. We needed to rebuild our ships and create an antidote, which required reimprinting some of our caste into scientists."

A shimmering light illuminated the bridge, revealing the tall, white-clad figure of the Head Scientist. She had adorned herself once more with the ceremonial bangles and charms of her station. Their tinkling accompanied her confident strides towards the viewscreen, in a coloration that Janeway had never seen before. Her body was black, with brilliant jewel-red streaks from the peak of her head down to her hands. Whether it was natural or painted Janeway could not tell, but it was yet another striking and unexpected emblem of war. For all their graciousness and devotion to science, the Erato did enjoy making a show of battle.

"Jelay," said the captain incredulously. "What are you-"

"The asteroid base has a limited, injectable countermeasure. I have survived its administration," she said, not turning around. "And without your shields, transporting to and from our warship was trivial."

"So, Triarch. How are your fledgling scientist slaves performing their tasks? They're not much good at it, are they, misguided one?"

Before her, the Triarch bristled and shifted to a dark brown, but remained silent.

"Creating a crippled form of scientist from an adult warrior is tenuous at best. No doubt the lack of supplies and their subservient position hindered their development even more. And as they struggled to find a cure, the Bakloth died around you by the thousands." The smugness in her voice gave Janeway an unreasonable cheer. She wagered that the Head Scientist had not felt superior to her enemies in a very long time.

"How do you-"

"Because I can read, you child," she said sharply, clapping her hands together in a clashing of bangles. "And because that is exactly what a scientist would have created. A disposable, infertile, physically impressive but intellectually limited humanoid with a timed life. Unlikely to rebel, unable to procreate, and dead within...how many years?"

"Ten," he said, chastened. "Fifteen for some of the newer variants. We couldn't augment them during the war." His demeanor snapped back. "This never would have happened if you had held up your side of the bargain, Head Scientist. We were pushed into the corners of society and regarded as throwbacks to a more vicious era. But we couldn't be decommissioned or bred out altogether because something would need to guide the footsoldiers. We languished and we grew discontented."

"As you should have been," the Scientist said, suddenly appeasing. "Just as it is your sacred duty to defend us and the artisans, so too it is our duty to give appreciation and support to our beloved protectors." She brought herself to the edge of the viewscreen and reached out a hand to the projected surface. "Poor children, so bewildered. Isn't it time you stopped this war?"

"Do not demean us with your false affection. We will succeed. Now that there is a cure, we can manufacture it and restart the purge."

"You will not," she said flatly. "We have regained space travel. The moment we see your warships in flight, we would detonate plague canisters all over this planet. Let's see how well your population survives when over half of its denizens die within a few weeks."

"You'd dare?"

"I made the final choice to release the plague. I have killed millions. What more," she said, her voice a dangerous hiss, "what more is the blood of a few thousand on my hands?"

The two Erato stared at each other. Janeway could almost see the hate streaming out of the warrior before her, while the scientist literally radiated an aura of confidence and determination. To the captain's visible relief, the Triarch bent his head.

"What of us now, Head Scientist? We do not wish to be confined to this rock for the rest of our existence, but we cannot mingle freely with our populace."

"That is not for me to decide. We shall send a delegation of politicians and artisans to your leaders. You will respect them as you do us." She closed her hands in front of her and intertwined her fingers. "Perhaps you may go home again. Your war has brought the castes closer together. Maybe in your future, these divisions do not exist. We shall see."

"I...we...await your decision, Head Scientist." He bowed his head respectfully, which she returned. "I will alert our leaders. There will no doubt be dissent. Perhaps there will even be war."

"Change always brings turmoil. We shall see it together." The screen went dark and the Head Scientist sighed. "And this is why we don't let them run things."

She shook her head and turned towards the captain. "I apologize that your people have been party to our great war. I can only hope that this brings peace to us. To all of us," she said, gesturing towards the dim colony below. "I must confer with my brethren on the opposite ship. No doubt they will have opinions about my actions."

Another hail interrupted their conversation. At Janeway's command, the viewscreen shifted once more. A wizened woman, clad only in a white shift, bowed to Janeway. Before the captain could greet her, though, Jelay ran forward and pressed her palms against the screen.

"Grandmother," she said reverently. "You're alive."

"And you, child. I have seen the work of your hands, both good and ill. You are the savior and the murderer of your people." The woman's voice was thin and quiet. Janeway, knowing the advanced age of Jelay, wondered just how old the scientist's elder was.

Jelay did not respond and the elder woman made no effort to engage her in conversation. Instead, the elder turned to Janeway.

"Young captain. You have brought us from our safe haven, perhaps to our deaths. But you have brought redemption to our people, and that far outweighs any other consequence. This is now an Erato matter. We will provide you with repairs and then we will release you from your burden."

The screen went dark and Jelay turned back towards the captain, her skin still an ominous black. The Erato reached out a hand, which Janeway took. Janeway had expected scaly roughness, but Jelay's hand was cool and smooth. The captain was reminded of holding a boa constrictor in the third grade; she had to restrain herself from pulling away at the unpleasant memory. Snakes were never her favorite animal.

Jelay smiled at the captain. "I never thought I would do this again in my lifetime. Thank you." The two stood there for a few moments longer before Chakotay signaled Voyager again.

"We're uploading Voyager's scientific progress to the Bakloth ship. If we combine Voyager's progress with the existing countermeasure, we may be able to find something that's less dangerous. It may take a few days, but the Great Scientist believes this is enough to generate a true cure.

"Acknowledged Chakotay." Janeway turned back to Jelay. "Less dangerous," she queried?

Jelay's face dropped. "Their antitoxin wasn't tested. It can have side effects. This...particular coloration isn't one associated with healthy Erato women and I can't seem to shift myself out of it." She shrugged lightly. "It did what it needed to do. I'll be fine, I hope. And if I'm not..." She smiled again, but it was wistful.

"It's what I deserve, nothing more."

Janeway's face mirrored the Head Scientist's. "I'm sorry," said.

"Don't be, captain. This is the price of science. You should know." She glanced around at the battered bridge. "I should return to my people to prepare your transport. We'll be leaving shortly."

"Very well. See you soon."

The Erato tapped a band around her wrist and vanished off the bridge. The price of science, Janeway mused, was too often too much.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

To Janeway's relief, the asteroid base was able to provide a docking site for Voyager, where her engineers and the Erato scientists began the tortuous process of rebuilding the battered ship . The bulkheads were shredded across four separate decks and so many sets of wiring were shorted that Lieutenant Torres despaired of ever having the replicators come back on line. The starboard nacelle had been heavily damaged enough that the engines needed to be taken completely offline so that the warp coils could be rebuilt. The hull was littered with microfractures, where it hadn't been pulled apart altogether, and four teams of extremely patient crewmen were conducting space walks to ensure everything was in place.

The captain watched the flurry of activity around her damaged ship from one of the observation ports on the base. Whatever crew was not trying to repair Voyager had been taken aboard and was now scattered across the station, studying the future technology of the Erato or taking what was an admittedly lackluster bit of R&amp;R. She had sent them all away, directing progress reports towards Torres or Chakotay, so she could stare off into the distance at her ship.

Voyager hung motionless against the swirling dance of the asteroid field. The darkened nacelles made the ship seem ghostly and strange, even more so than the dimmed interior lights and unlit hull. Most jarring, though, was the crater that replaced most of the aft section of decks three, four, and five. Somewhere within that gaping blackness was the crumbled remains of proteomics, Mileena's final resting place.

When Harry had informed her of the hull breech during the battle, it hadn't registered as Mileena's lab. In spite of her burgeoning relationship with the young woman, Janeway's primary concern at that minute had been damage to the aft torpedo bay. Hull decompression could mean that the apparatus wouldn't fire properly or that some of the explosives might dislodge and pose damage to the rest of the ship. Nowhere in her automatic response to a hull breech was worry about the destruction of a tiny biology lab nestled next to the weapons room.

It was only after, when the damage and casualty reports were being compiled, that she had recognized what it meant when deck four, section six had been breeched. She'd felt this fluttering, choking sensation around the base of her neck as she ordered an engineering team to scour that location for any signs of life. She'd been told, though, that the structural integrity of that section was too tenuous to support their weight. They'd be risking their lives to take a spacewalk in that region. No matter what Janeway privately wished, she couldn't authorize them to take such a risk.

She'd poured over the combat logs. Mileena's best friend was a transporter operator. Surely Ensign Powell could have transported her out if the hull were breeching. The sandy-haired young woman had denied that, though, stating that Mileena's duty station was in proteomics and that she never left during a red alert. Janeway had been shocked that the ensign appeared anxious and jittery, rather than grief-stricken. Indeed, all of Mileena's cadre of friends seemed to want to return to the ship as soon as the repairs were completed. But repeated scans of the location revealed no life signs or functioning life support. A shuttle fly-by showed only battered duranium bulkheads and dead space. There was a glimmer of electrical activity left over from the machinery of the lab, but other than that, Mileena was gone.

The captain had sat in her room on the asteroid base. She felt a dull void envelop her once she had processed what had happened. Losing a crewmember was difficult in any event. She'd sent the bodies of too many devoted ensigns and lieutenants out into the void of space thanks to the Kazon or the Borg. This, though, wounded her like no other. Mileena's curving features drifted across her mind and tantalized her with their closeness and beauty. Her smile tore at Janeway's heart. Her voice chattered in her ears and laughed at some minor joke that had sprung from her science. It washed over her in rivers of loss that Janeway didn't want to acknowledge. She couldn't bring herself fully to accept that Mileena was dead and, what's more, she couldn't bring herself to admit how much the she had wrapped herself up in the woman's well-being. This had not been a mere crush. This had been the intricate beginnings of something deeper and more intimate. And now it was gone, with all the potential it could have brought.

She'd announced the death to the crew and the Erato yesterday. The memorial was scheduled for their return to the ship two days from now. Chakotay had tried to reach out to the captain, either to support her or for support, but she had brushed him aside. It was already stretching her reserves to conceal her grief. She could offer words of comfort to her crew, but anything deeper would trigger too much for her to deal with. Perhaps being on familiar footing would have given her more fortitude. Then again, walking the silent corridor past the empty wet lab might have let her break down.

Two presences flanked Janeway, causing her to startle and look around. The tall Erato women whom she had hosted on her ship shared her contemplating of Voyager's damage. Se'tai was a sober grey-orange, while Jelay maintained her obsidian complexion. Both had exchanged their white and blue robes for coarse red fabric. They clasped their hands in front of them, but neither said a word nor made any motion to interact with the captain. Together, the triad watched white-clad engineers gently maneuver a large metal piece into place over the remnants of deck three and begin riveting it over the hole. Already, the ship was beginning to heal.

Their silence wore quickly on her until she finally spoke. "We'll be returning to Voyager as soon as the hull has been repaired. We probably won't be able to leave for another week, but ...it seems right to remember her..." The words died in her throat and, to her embarrassment, a quaver nearly made it into her voice. The command facade held, though, and made her able to terminate the sentence, "where she was most at home."

"We would attend, if you would have us," said Jelay. Unlike the captain, she made her grief known. At the news of Mileena's death the assembly of scientists who had attended to Mileena with such devotion had commenced a bout of wailing that, for all its overwrought performance, perfectly echoed what the captain had felt. Strangely empty and reverberating with sadness. In her clinical moments, Janeway wondered how they could have such an attachment to someone they'd known for only a few weeks. Then again, they'd spent so many more hours in constant contact that Janeway's own experiences were trivial in comparison.

"We would also like to memorialize her and your crew, as by our customs," said Se'tai solemnly. "Your people have brought us closer to our dreams of regaining our homelands. You would honor us by allowing your names to be given to our children."

Janeway felt that catch of emotion threaten her again, but she pressed it into a flat nothingness. Instead, she conjured up a gracious amount of positivity.

"It is generous of you to request our permission. I will ask the crew, but I believe most will assent."

Se'tai bowed and took her leave towards a cluster of young centurions, who thronged her and dragged her towards their duties. This left Jelay and the captain still watching the ship in shared silence until Jelay whispered to the captain.

"I am sorry for you, beyond words. She was like a child to me, but for you, I know she was so much more." Janeway stiffened, but did not rebuke Jelay and let her continue. "Carry that in your heart, Kathryn. Say the words you couldn't say to her and that, yes, she knew you couldn't speak aloud. In the quiet of your command, when no one can hear, give yourself that gift." Without waiting for an answer, the Head Scientist turned and walked away with clattering gait on the metal grating.

Soon after, Janeway returned to her crew. There were updates to consider and logistics to arrange. Supplies should be taken on and negotiations should be monitored. Things were not necessarily going well on the fifth colony, enough so that Se'tai had suggested Voyager leave sooner rather than later. All these things to preoccupy herself with so she didn't have to think.

Somewhere in the subsequent two-day long crush of monitoring data and repair reports, Chakotay had reappeared. He didn't speak as he placed the padd down on her makeshift desk and waited until she read it. And read it again. And looked up at his calm face with an expression more open and raw that she would have preferred. Her grey-blue eyes flashed with a lightning-quick glimmer of hope.

"There's...an intact bulkhead in proteomics," she said, her voice gravely with repressed emotion.

"They didn't detect it beneath all the damage. Lieutenant Carey reports that although the outer lab has been destroyed, the wet lab may still be sealed." Chakotay swallowed hard. "But life support in that portion of the ship has been offline for as long as we've been docked."

The hope died away from the captain's face and she nodded slowly at first, then more vigorously. "We should retrieve her body," she said quietly. "As soon as it's safe, I want a team down there."

At least there would be closure.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Lauren liked running. It was stress relief, it was exercise, and it was a chance to collect her thoughts. Most of her childhood had been outdoors, running after some beast or her sister or the Klingons with whom she spent her life. She'd spent hours in the academy running through the streets of San Francisco, over the hiking paths outside the city, and of course, around the red clay track where she won a handful of competitions. She got a reputation for being sporty, which she also embraced. Sporty. It fit her personality: perky, driven, light-hearted. Of course, at Starfleet, sporty implied a certain sexual preference that she'd not even considered until Voyager. Mileena...Mileena had changed all that, but not in the way she'd expected or hoped. The entire situation was too laden with drama. Boys were easier and she'd been working so hard to shift back. A few quick glances and nudges with a subset of engineers indicated that she was succeeding.

Instead of the hills of Berkley, though, her feet found their way at moderate speed towards Neelix's home in the mess hall. As soon as it had been safe, he had returned to begin providing the crew with more familiar fare, which was exactly what Lauren needed. She jogged through the door and wound her way to the counter, leaning her body in a half push-up against the edge. One freckled hand pushed her reddish-brown hair back in a futile attempt to keep herself neat. The locks fell back as she called out to the Talaxian.

"Neelix! It's an emergency!"

He bustled around the corner, his apron askew and spattered with a yellowish batter. He briskly wiped his hands on a dishtowel and approached her with a look of consolation, ignoring her urgent tone.

"Lauren, I'm so, so-"

"Neelix, no. You don't understand. She's alive. I know it. And I need the strongest, spiciest batch of Reelin thistle tea that you can brew. And fast."

He looked perplexed, but something about her furrowed brow and intense eyes drove him back into his kitchen. She followed him to the edge of the stove as he pulled out the ingredients. This was taking too much time, she thought, but she needed this tea. The replicators were, of course, still down. Thank you, Mileena, for draining all the power out and fusing the circuits to try and save the ship.

He clanged some pans together and turned up a burner under a pot until the bottom was a livid red. "Do you want it sweet or bitter?"

"Bitter. As bitter as you can get it without making it poisonous. She'll need it."

"Lauren, I don't understand," he said, leaning forward while pushing his apron out of the way. "The captain's made the announcement. There's a service scheduled for tomorrow. She's gone."

"Neelix," she said as gently as she could with her heart ramming itself in her chest. "If there's one thing that Mileena knows how to do, it's to stay alive when there's no hope otherwise. You helped make sure of that."

He smiled proudly. "Well, if there's hope, I'm all for it."

He grabbed a garishly floral thermos from the pantry. A bubbling eruption came from the gleaming copper pot, signaling that the tea had finished brewing. He carefully poured the entire quantity of tea into the container and sealed it.

"Good luck, Lauren."

"We'll see you in time for dinner."

She turned and ran out. Her feet thudded in easy rhythm along the deck. Her breezing form sent other crewmen scurrying to the side as she swung herself into the turbolift and jogged in place, hoping that the momentum of her bouncing body would force the elevator down that much faster. She'd wanted to get there before them. She'd heard the call go out for engineering and staff to assemble in proteomics. Something about needing specialized equipment to get through a sealed bulkhead. So she ran from the transporter to the mess hall and back again, hoping she could begin the process before they reached the inner corridor.

On deck four, she followed the path she knew so well through the still-scorched walls towards proteomics, then stopped at the door and suppressed a sigh.

Within the largely stripped lab, a crowd had gathered. ensign Russel and ensign Jackson were busying themselves with hyperspanners and laser cutters, futilely trying to disarm either the forcefields or the duranium plate that covered the wet lab. Lieutenant Torres was in a heated debate with commander Chakotay about just what the hell had been installed in here and why they couldn't get through. Lietenant Tuvok was there for some inexplicable reason, leaning against what was left of a shelf with one eye cocked. And finally, the captain, standing with her arms crossed tightly, her gaze a thousand miles away.

How to handle this, Lauren panicked, without alienating her bosses. All of them. Time for the direct approach, she said, mustering every inch of her 62 centimeter frame.

"Excuse me," she said tentatively, then cleared the fear from her voice. "I can help you get in."

The room of forbidding command crew turned towards her and it took all of her years on a Klingon colony to keep her from shrinking against the bulkhead.

"Ensign Powell," said Chakotay sharply. "Do you mean to tell me you know what's going on here?"

"Yes, sir. I would have performed the extraction myself, but the damage was too severe and then..." she trailed off, feeling the burning eyes of the captain on her freckled, rapidly paling face.

"Explain," demanded the auburn-haired woman. The ensign had seen Janeway during pleasant conversation at the mess hall or in curt passing on the transporter. Never had she seen the stormy demeanor that threatened to cut Lauren down where she stood.

Lauren took a few steps forward into the darkened outer shell of proteomics. It smelled like sulfur and burning: the stench of space and the stench of a ship that had failed its crew. She pointed to the door.

"It's a failsafe device that she initiates when the hull breeches and the structural integrity fields collapse. It keeps her from being adrift in proteomics as the world collapses around her, as she likes to say" Lauren found the words too poetic, but they were Mileena's words and she intended to render them faithfully.

"And you can open it," said the captain. A note of desperate eagerness had crept into that steely voice. Lauren kept her eyebrows firmly affixed in flat lines across her forehead. Well well, Mileena, she thought. You weren't incorrect.

"I believe so. I need access to the port station." She peered around Tuvok. "Well, what's left of it."

The waves of crewmen parted as she stood in front of the blistered terminal nestled against the secondary bulkhead. She could feel all of their eyes on her and she hoped that whatever shaking had crept into her hands did not keep her from doing her task. With a few coaxing strokes, the proximal display sputtered to life. She sagged and frowned at what she saw.

"Computer, initialize opening sequence."

"Unable to comply."

She nodded. "Have the correct parameters been met?"

"Yes." There was a beep. "No." There was a second beep. "Unknown."

"I do not believe I have heard a computer give that response before," observed Tuvok.

"Yes, well, this part of the ship isn't like most other parts. A moment, please. Sir." He didn't speak further. Lauren pressed a few buttons together and lifted her head up as if beseeching the sky.

"CRE, what is your status?"

A calming male voice, lightly accented and warm, broke through her tension. "Standby mode, Lauren."

"What the hell is that," said Lieutenant Torres from behind her. She could imagine the half-Klingon's furious scowl.

Lauren gripped the console. This was going to take twice as long with this sort of audience. "It's the voice of the bioneural supercomputer, CRE. Its AI is far more rudimentary than that of the ship's computer, but it serves its purpose. CRE has a dual core: the lesser core piggybacks on the main computer, while the greater core is inside with Mileena...Ensign Irae."

She tapped a handful of keys, ignoring a protesting conversation between the lieutenant and the commander. "CRE, status of hull and structural integrity field parameters on deck four, section 6?"

"Hull integrity at 100%. Structural integrity field at 0%."

"That's not possible," interjected the Chief Engineer. "The structural integrity field was reinitialized shortly after we docked at the asteroid base. CRE must be wrong. Computer what is the status of the structural integrity field on deck four, section 6?"

"Structural integrity field is at 100%," the female voice answered blandly.

Lauren turned around slowly and clasped trembling hands behind her. She tipped her head up at the half-Klingon and fixed her with the most confident gaze she could manage. Instead of speaking to her, though, she asked the computer, "What is the status of the structural integrity field on the aft torpedo bay?"

"Structural integrity field is at 200%."

"Explain," Lauren said, trying not the relish the looks of surprise on the assembled crew.

"Unable to comply."

Lauren wondered if the computer felt confused when she asked it to do something impossible. She knew and the computer knew that something usually at 100% couldn't physically be at 200%.

"There's a problem with the integrity field generators in this part of the ship," said Chakotay grimly.

"Correct. Intrepid-class warships are reinforced around their weapons system. There are six extra layers of duranium with reinforced tritanium along the rivets. Same thing along the phaser banks. During a hull breech, the structural integrity fields are supposed to pull extra power from non-essential functions to keep the torpedoes intact. That doesn't typically include areas of the ship that are manned. But..."

"The computer decided that proteomics was non-essential," whispered Janeway.

"Decks three through five, section six, lose their structural integrity fields during a hull breech," Lauren said, more coldly than she should have in front of the array of superior officers. "Deck three and deck five don't have any personnel in that section, but deck four? Well, it does." She ended on a far softer note than she had begun.

Even though she knew it was rude, she took the opportunity to go back to the console. "CRE, can you make the computer realign the structural integrity emitters to give deck four, section 6 back its field?"

"I will comply," it said, almost cheerfully.

"So we're floating around with a hole in the structural integrity field," said Lieutenant Torres. Lauren heard a sound of rustling fabric that must have been the lieutenant flinging her hands in the air.

"Not precisely," she said, scanning CRE's console for field strength. "The photo torpedo emitters will eventually redistribute power back to the rest of the decks, but that can take a week unless I nudge it along. Most of the time, the ship is undergoing hull repairs long enough for Mileena and I to fix it."

"Why weren't we notified of this," said Janeway, her voice a low and dangerous growl.

Lauren paused, once again grateful that her face was masked by the dancing glow of the console. "You were, captain. The reports were filed after the first and second times this happened. Adjustments were made, but Carey and Doyle realized that we'd need to completely reconfigure the photon torpedo systems. None of us, not even Mileena, believed that keeping proteomics covered was worth putting the ship in danger."

"That wasn't your decision to make, ensign," replied the captain. A wave of frost tickled the back of Lauren's neck. Don't turn around, she commanded herself. Don't turn around. It will only go poorly.

"Mileena would disagree. I'm sure she'll have a lot to say once we get her out."

"How do you know she's alive in there," asked Chakotay.

By way of answering, she said, "CRE: did Mileena initiate cold storage before you were put into standby mode?"

"Yes."

"Was it completed successfully?"

"Yes."

"Are there any vital signs?"

"No report, Lauren. The sensors inside the wet lab are offline."

"That's why," the sandy-haired transporter chief said to the waiting room. A series of cheerful beeps sounded from the console. "Ah, the structural integrity field is back online."

She turned back to the room, which was vibrating with concealed anger. It would be an interesting way to lose her commission altogether, mused Lauren. Mileena would be appalled and amused to know that her best friend would spend the rest of their journey in the brig. Assuming, of course, that the final bag of chemicals hadn't killed that ridiculous, marvelous scientist in the interim.

"Computer, cross check hull and structural integrity fields using internal scanner, level alpha-1."

Lauren leaned back against the console and closed her eyes. Time to drop the rest of the bombs. "Of course, the structural integrity field is only the second problem. The first is that the aft torpedo bay has a mis-configured plasma conduit network that is five meters too close to the primary hull. If the shields go down and the ship is hit anywhere in this area, the plasma conduit ruptures, causing the tritanium rivets to give way. The extra plating gives the hull extra momentum, so the entire section shears off." She tapped the wall behind her. "At best, the compartment undergoes a partial decompression and rips out some of bulkhead. At worst, it blows out both of these walls and sucks most of the equipment into space, though we've bolted down this console enough times that it hasn't been destroyed more than twice in a few years."

Lauren opened her eyes again. The faces around her were grim and unyielding. The captain had clasped her hands in front of her and was clenching threaded fingers until they were white. It was Tuvok who broke the silence, holding out a padd to his commanding officers.

"Captain, according to ship's records, this has been reported every time this breech has occurred, though it was deemed unfixable by Engineering."

"How...many times," the captain said, her voice still that deadly, calm, and flat tone.

"Twenty-six."

The number sat there as Lauren mentally urged the computer to finish the scan. She was already in deep. Might as well drive in the nails.

"Well, the hull has been breeched twenty-six times, but most of those were partial. Full proteomics containment has only been lost about a dozen times. Usually, the hull breech just rips off part of the bulkhead. Of those dozen, eight have been accompanied by a failure of the structural integrity field. Well, nine, if you count...you know."

Blessedly, the computer finished its scan before she could elaborate on the terrible accident on Voyager's first day in the delta quadrant. "Scan complete. No faults found."

"Computer, disengage forcefields around proteomics, authorization Powell sigma wej jav rho two sech chorgh Hut." Lauren liked that her authorization codes had Klingon. It was fun. With a whine of dropping forcefields, the whole room seemed to lose a level of intensity. Now, all that remained was the door. That was the easy part.

She pressed her hands against the door. "So this box is what she uses to keep herself from being ejected into space. I can show you the requisition forms. It's all above board, including the labor." An inexplicable wave of exhaustion hit her. It was hard to be in the room with so much tension and misunderstanding. She was babbling and too casual. On the other hand, they were letting her talk.

She stood back and clicked her communicator. "Computer, execute transporter program Powell three thousand." Glittering lights dissolved the door and let them finally see Mileena.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Ice. Janeway hadn't expected that. The entire wet lab was covered in a sheen of frost. Icicles had formed with disconcerting festiveness at the edges of the countertops. A climbing spray of frozen liquid had spattered on a cabinet and hung delicately by its icy threads. And in the midst of this, the ensign.

Kathryn Janeway had maintained her composure through this whole ordeal. She had swallowed her dismay when they walked through the debris on Deck 4. She had barely barked orders at the hapless engineers who tried to unlock the wet lab. She hadn't reprimanded Ensign Powell throughout her careful unveiling of Mileena's secret defenses. But at the sight of the woman who suddenly appeared in front of her, she allowed a tiny intake of breath.

Mileena's head slumped forward in what she called the heavy chair. All that kept her in place was a set of industrial clamps that Janeway suspected had been salvaged from a less than savory planet by the ever-resourceful Neelix. Her dark hair had fallen across her face and her eyes were closed. Her pale brown skin was now a greyish-blue and flecked with crystals of ice. Janeway thought she could see a blackening at the woman's fingertips, but it was impossible to be sure. Her face was half-obscured by an old-fashioned ventilator mask that was attached to a length of grey-white tubing that snaked from a whirring compartment behind her. On an ice-encrusted table beside her, a series of jarringly colorful tubes ran together into a silver needle through the ensign's arm.

"Get her out," she demanded hoarsely.

"I can't, captain," came the deadened response. Janeway knew that this was as hard, if not harder, for the young woman beside her. She just couldn't extend compassion at that moment, not with Mileena hanging in suspended animation in front of them.

"Why not," she asked in a dark hiss.

"The forcefield between here and Mileena is on her voice trigger only. Disable it and that device," the freckled ensign pointed towards the liquid, "will infuse her with a neurotoxin. She didn't want to be taken alive if the ship were compromised."

"Then what do you do," said Janeway, tension forming in the pit of her stomach. Damn this young woman for being so obtuse and frustrating. Get Mileena out now, she screamed internally.

"We're already doing it. The wet lab needs to warm up, which will trigger the reversal of the nerve blocks and sedatives when they melt. At that point, Mileena will need to disengage the liquid breathing apparatus and give the command."

"How long," said Janeway.

"Five minutes, forty-two seconds," said the ensign flatly. Her voice went hollow and far away. "She's beginning to regain consciousness, but she's still paralyzed."

Janeway's stomach turned. "Why? That must be torture."

"It keeps her from dislodging the breathing apparatus before she's able to fully compensate with normal respiration. Otherwise, she'll disengage it too quickly, which could lead to oxygen deprivation and brain damage." ensign checked the time. "Four minutes, fifty nine seconds." She hesitated. "And yes, from what she tells me, it's agony."

The room had gone absolutely silent, save the incessant clicking of ancient machinery from within the wet lab. The compressor's motor thrummed its fluid into Mileena's lungs and the infusers pushed the antagonists into her veins. Janeway began to notice finger twitches as the scientist's color began to return. The nerve blocks were wearing off, she guessed, and the ensign was just a few minutes from being out here, safe, next to her captain.

Mileena's amber eyes flew open suddenly and she slammed her head back with a bang. She began to struggle against her bonds. Her fists clenched and she futilely began to rip her arms upward, then opened her hands into a clawing motion, gesturing towards her own throat in a look of sheer desperation. She turned and twisted, tears running down her obscured face, trapped within a body that refused to fully cooperate.

"Ninety seconds, sweetheart," Ensign Powell whispered. Her voice had developed a quaver and a few tears leaked out of her own eyes. "Focus on me."

"What's happening," said Janeway, feeling as if someone had punched her in the gut, leaving her stunned and breathless. The woman's struggles made her own pulse rise and she wanted to throw herself through the barrier to release her. She wasn't afraid of the cold or the pain or the consequences. Anything, anything at all to relieve her suffering.

"She's aware of the fluid in her lungs, so she feels like she's drowning even though she's still getting oxygen. Her lungs aren't strong enough to breathe yet, so the program won't let her release herself."

Janeway looked with horror towards the fruitless struggle before her. She blinked her blue-grey eyes, holding back her emotions. Against Mileena's intricate life support system and her dread-inspiring planning, Janeway was absolutely powerless. She was forced to watch this woman, who had so insinuated herself into the captain's heart, suffer just centimeters away.

"Thirty seconds, Mileena," said the ensign again, her forehead almost touching the forcefield. "You can do it. Just hold on."

For a moment, Mileena caught Janeway's eyes and extended a look of pleading that crumbled the last of Janeway's resolve. Raw emotion filled Janeway's face as the command facade flickered down and then reasserted itself. In that instant, the scientist in front of her gained a moment of peace, but it was as fleeting as Janeway's moment of turmoil, and once again, Mileena tried to stop the awful drowning and burning in her lungs.

A loud clang sounded as the restraints released and Mileena tumbled to the floor, ripping out the IV from her arm. On all fours, she tore the mask off her face and coughed a stream of clear oxygenated fluid onto the floor. With each wheezing breath, her panic seemed to subside and, Janeway found, her own did too. Finally, she crouched back on her heels and wiped her face with a sleeve, breathing heavily and gratefully. Trembling, she grabbed the edge of the chair and stood upright, her head still pitched downward.

A thick and hoarse voice came out of her chattering lips. "Computer. Disengage proteomics forcefield. Authorization Irae," a gasp interrupted her. "Beta six beta seven beta eight."

"Acknowledged."

The field came down and Mileena took a step towards the assembled crew before collapsing forward.

Janeway didn't know how she moved that fast, but suddenly the ensign was in her arms and being lowered to the ground, completely oblivious to the raised eyebrows that Ensign Powell exchanged with Chakotay. The captain wrapped herself around Mileena, whose freezing body shook with every thankful breath. One of Janeway's hands instinctively ran itself through the tangle of black hair; she found herself whispering gentle, comforting things to the woman in her arms. She felt Mileena's arms encircle her waist and pull herself closer, leaning her head heavily on the captain's shoulder. For what felt like a breathless eternity, Kathryn held Mileena.

"S-sorry C-c-captain," she whispered through chattering teeth. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's alright," the captain answered, even though her command nature suggested that there would be a laundry list of reprimands handed out in a few hours. "You're safe. You're here. That's all that matters." In truth, there was nowhere else on the ship that the captain would rather be than here in proteomics, in blissful contact with this young woman who was doing her very best to bury herself into the captain's grasp.

All too soon, Ensign Powell crouched beside them, offering a terrible-smelling brownish liquid in a festively colored thermos. She brushed the side of Mileena's face and said, "Welcome back, sweetheart. You need to drink this."

"Do. I have. To?" Mileena managed, still wonderfully entrapped in the captain's embrace.

"Unless you want to stop breathing, yes." Ensign Powell tilted her head towards the captain. "It's an amazing emetic and expectorant. She needs it to clear the remaining bits of fluid from her lungs before she ends up with pneumonia."

With visible reluctance, Mileena disengaged herself and tried to stand. Chakotay had appeared beside the two of them and eased the young woman upright, while Tuvok attempted to bring the captain to standing with some amount of decorum. Mileena took the thermos, sniffed it, and gagged.

"Can I. N-n-ot do this. In front of seven people?"

"You won't have to," said the captain, regaining her bearings and slamming her emotions behind her steely resolve. "Mr. Tuvok, please escort Ensign Irae to Sickbay."

"I'll...be fine...in a few hours. Just...need a hot...bath," she said with a weak smile.

"I don't think so," responded the captain, her voice husky and deadly serious. "Have the Doctor run a full scan. Once you're cleared, I think we all need to have a long talk.

"Of course, captain," said the ensign, the smile fading to quiet resignation.

"I'll accompany the ensign," said Chakotay helpfully. "It's not every day I get to spend time with someone who came back from the dead."

The room emptied, one by one, leaving the captain standing alone in proteomics. Or so she thought. Ensign Powell had stopped by the door and said in a voice that was both hushed and strained. "I'm sorry, captain. I couldn't tell you sooner. I keep her secrets. All of them, without fail. Even if it hurts me...and others who care for her."

She didn't wait to be dismissed and the captain heard her footfalls disappear across the unfinished repairs. It took Kathryn all her years of practice and all her captain's grace to keep from crying with elation and the release of pain. Mileena was alive. They both could breathe again.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Sickbay was predictably uneventful. The Doctor was displeased with the entire setup, especially the part where she put herself into cryogenic stasis without his knowledge. He chided and reprimanded, then forced her to lie still on the biobed while he needlessly, to Mileena's eyes, monitored her vital signs for any indication that she wasn't okay. The only benefit was not needing to drink Neelix's tea to finish clearing her lungs. Instead, he gave her a blast of the hypospray. and the last of the fluid was absorbed into her body within a few minutes. She would be fine. This was the sixth time she'd needed to do this particular procedure and it actually got easier with every iteration, not more difficult.

Beside her, the massive figure of Chakotay looked down and shook his head. He wasn't quite angry, but he'd managed to conjure his own version of the captain's patented expression of tempered annoyance. His eyebrows arched up and he closed his dark eyes, shaking his head once more.

"You mean to tell me that this is the most efficient way for you to deal with a hull breech?"

"It's my duty station, sir," she said, fixing her gaze on the dull grey ceiling. "I'm not going to desert during a fight. The ship needs me there." She rotated her head to the side. "But I'm guessing that I'm going to explain the whole thing to the captain and engineering as soon as I'm up and about?"

"That would be a correct assessment, yes." He shook his head again. "I need to check on the status of the Erato and the repairs. You can expect a summons to the bridge within the day, if the Doctor releases you."

"Yes, sir," she said. To her amusement, he patted her shoulder and displayed a wry grin.

"Try not to die in the meantime."

The Doctor fretted some more, running his tricorder over all of her implants and informing her that she might have damaged them in the sub-zero temperatures, but that this wasn't the time for such a frivolous activity. After several hours of long-winded speeches, he reluctantly discharged Mileena to her quarters in the company of Ensign Powell, who had wrangled permission from Tuvok to remain off-duty until a red alert sounded. The two made their way to Mileena's quarters, where the dark-haired woman gratefully stripped off her clothing, tossed it into a replicator, and threw herself in the shower without a single hesitation. Lauren flushed, turned her head, then looked back with concealed longing as her friend retreated into the tiny bathroom for a rarely-experienced water shower.

"Er, I'll be right out here," said Lauren, collapsing on the bed. "Just, you know, going through all of your stuff and maybe stealing some of it."

"Go ahead," called Mileena. "Alternatively, you can wait five minutes for me to wash the glop off and we can have a conversation. Sound good?"

The water blasting on her head obscured the vocal answer. However, the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing again suggested that Lauren had come up with a slightly different plan. The tow-headed woman had taken off her duty jacket and was lounging on the closed toilet seat, watching her naked friend try to scrub off four day's worth of accumulated grime. The scientist was too focused on her cleaning to care about whatever titillation her friend might derive from the unconscious show she was putting on.

Mileena took a handful of spice-laced soap, a more enjoyable acquisition from a market journey, and squeezed it into a rough cloth. Beginning at her skull transmitters, she began to scrub off the dry skin, sweat, and god knows what else that was still clinging to her skin. It felt so good to be upright, to be warm, and to be conscious. All too soon, though, she stopped her shower, took a towel from Lauren's outstretched arm, and sat down in the tub. With careful fingernails, she pried up each port covering and placed them in their individual bins on a small metal shelf. Then, she took a package of sterile wipes and began to swab the outer disks and a little of the inner surface, noting grimly that a few had become puffy and sore. Whether this would transform into a full-out rejection of the implant or just be annoying was unseen. Dammit, the Doctor might be right.

"I can't believe it," said Lauren, still failing to keep her eyes off her friend's slim body. "You're right. You're goddamn right."

"Excuse me," said Mileena absently. She was circling the implants on her left palm, shining them to nearly their original state. She wondered whether Neelix would let her use his silver polish to give them a more lustrous sheen.

"The captain has a thing for you. She's...wow. She really has a thing for you."

Mileena dropped her head and put the wipe she was using down on her cloth-covered knee. A brilliant smile splayed itself uncontrollably across her face. Being in the captain's arms, so secure and so warm, had been a welcome moment of heaven after the hell of disconnecting. It was more than just being caught while falling. The captain had held her close, told her how wonderful she was and how much the captain had worried about her. There were no longer any doubts about what the captain was feeling, but there was also no doubt that it would never be acted on. After all, it wasn't the captain who had come with her to Sickbay and lingered with her while the Doctor ran tests. It wouldn't be fitting. Still, she wanted to gloat with Lauren, just a little.

"It looks like it," she replied and turned her yellow eyes towards the ceiling, still unable to contain the blissful mischief on her face. Then, her expression deadened. "But it's meaningless. There's no way that the captain is going to take a chance on an ensign, especially after the meeting we're about to have."

She resumed her polishing while Lauren prattled on about the ship repairs. Poor Lauren, she said to herself, turning the cloth over once again to delicately attack her palms. She's been spending too much time taking care of me. I'm going to be better. Dinners out. Time in the holodeck running one of her damn Klingon exercise programs. Being something other than a drain on the younger woman's resources.

Abandoning her friend to do...whatever it was she was going to do in the bathroom, Mileena went into her bedroom and stretched. A few days literally frozen into the same position had made her stiff and sore, though the shower and the Doctor's medications had taken much of that out. She plaited her hair into a messy braid after winding the strands of her hair around the skull contacts and put on her uniform. It felt good to be normal again. Normal meant breathing air and pretending that she hadn't been drowning just a few hours before. It was unarguably more pleasant than cryostasis.

She walked into the main part of the room and contemplated the replicator. She should probably make some food, but being dead probably meant that her rations had been cut off. So, the mess hall it was.

"Lauren, are you coming with me," she called into the bathroom.

"Where," she said, coming out and wiping her hands on a towel.

"Er, the mess hall? For food?"

"Are you nuts, Mileena," said the transporter operator. "Can I remind you that everyone thought you were dead. Seeing you strolling around getting food like there's nothing wrong will cause at best a panic and at worst a riot." She grabbed Mileena's arm and turned her around, deadly serious. Her even expression and brightly sparkling eyes had both gone deadly cold.

"People started mourning you, Mileena. Everyone but your special circle had to come to grips with their loss and what it meant for them and their own mortality. Now, it turns out you were alive all this time because you were too stupid or prideful or whatever to evacuate before things went to hell."

"I'm not abandoning my post because it's inconvenient," Mileena roared in return. "You and I and everyone around me know that they'd shut down those forcefields and pull out the bulkheads, then stick me in some cargo bay for the next five or however many decades. I did what I had to keep myself alive when the ship falls apart around me."

"That's the chance we all take." Lauren gripped her arm hard enough to press the contacts into her own palms. "You gave yourself a luxury of safety that none of us are allowed. You don't think the engineers near the warp core want a chance to shield themselves when it starts venting plasma? That's part of being in a crew. It's not forcing your friends to keep secrets so you can play with your equipment."

"I never demanded your secrecy. I could have done it myself. You offered. Any of you could have gone to Lieutenant Torres or the commander or even the captain, but you didn't. It's too damn late now." Mileena pulled herself away and debated throwing a few things at the bulkhead. She hated this sort of duplicity. They gave and then they took away.

"We offered because we care for you and we kept your secrets because we agree with you. Hell, we'll still keep your secrets to keep everyone from wanting to throw you out of an airlock for scaring them all with your bull. But now we're all going to pay for that. Do you know how many inquests and disciplinary hearings you're going to put us all through? Alice, Pablo, me, Ken, even Mariah? We're all under the microscope because you wanted your way. We wouldn't mind if you would take some damn responsibility and stop pretending everything is okay."

"It's fine, Lauren. It really is fine. I'm here and ready to go back to work. I need to rebuild the lab again and check on-"

"No, you don't get it. It's not fine," she said, her voice rising and harsh, spitting each syllable of her words. "You almost died, Mileena, and you expect us to pretend that it doesn't matter. We all know that if we screw up, you die. You thank us, but you don't quite get it, do you? You're too selfish to realize it."

"I do realize it. That's why I try to make it up to you. But you can't blame me for what I need to do."

"Yes, I can. You need to take responsibility for the consequences of your actions." Mileena heard Lauren's voice peter out. She walked back over to her smaller friend and looked down at a face that was breaking into tears instead of fuming with anger.

"Every one of us fears that we might open that door and find your corpse. How could we live with that? How do we walk away from that, knowing that we failed?"

"I don't know, Lauren," she said gently, putting her hands on Lauren's shoulders. She tilted her head down and touched it to Lauren's in a sign of deep affection. "I...don't think about it. But I will, this time. I'll go to the conference room when they summon me. I'll absolve all of you of blame and save your careers. I'll answer all of their damn questions and tell them I was a selfish idiot. I'll move myself into Cargo Bay 2 with Seven and ogle her breasts." Lauren didn't take the hint of humor. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry fixes nothing," said Lauren in return. "Unless you actually mean it. Do you mean it, Tas'Te-aleena? Are you going to change?"

Mileena winced at her familial name, the one she threw off when she burned off her Trill-imbued markings and replaced with a far more natural human variant. "I will try, Lauren. That's all I can do for you. For all of you."

"And for yourself, 'Leena. Value your life for a damn change. We've put so much time into trying to save it that you need to stop throwing it away whenever there's a variation in the data. I want you to get rid of every failsafe that kills you unless something has gone terribly wrong. Find another way," she said, quashing any debate before Mileena had a chance to think it. "But that's a longer discussion."

She patted Mileena and sat down on the couch, wiping her hands across her misty eyes. Mileena leaned against the desk on the far wall and didn't say anything. There wasn't really anything the scientist could do to fix the situation beyond obey Lauren's request. She was right, anyway. They remained silent until the door chime indicated that someone else had figured that Mileena wasn't dead.

A grinning Neelix, thrilled at her recovery, administered heaping portions of a variety of Trill foods that Mileena tried her best to like. She was glad she could count on him to break the news to the rest of the crew. He spun his own story from the limited snippets gleaned from Voyager's impressive rumor mill. Mileena was trapped within the wet lab, bravely trying to protect the Erato's data, before initializing her desperate plan to keep herself alive. It sounded almost plausible, so she let it stand, especially since Lauren seemed willing to play along. More secrets, she realized, to keep everyone safe from their emotions and her safe from their rage. The truth, in which she was a coward who shirked her responsibility, was far less enjoyable to tell.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Janeway sat, troubled, on the upper ridge of her ready room. Before her, B'Elanna paced while Tuvok and Seven of Nine stood immobile by the door, each reading something on their padds.

"The ship comes apart while we're in battle and strands a crewmember while we're repairing it. Somehow, we've ignored this for five years, so she takes it upon herself to throw herself in cryostasis and potentially commit suicide rather than trouble us," said B'Elanna, tossing her hands in the hair and growling. "I don't know whether she's stupid or brilliant."

"Ignore, Lieutenant, would be overstating it. These are the duty logs for every post-breech repair to that area of ship." He handed it to her and she began scrolling through, her face scowling more and more until Tuvok was worried that her forehead might twist off.

"The same team. The same damn team every damn time. Carey, Dalby, Doyle, Hargrove." She slapped the padd on Janeway's desk and stormed up the stairs towards her captain before stomping back down. "They know she's in there, so they reassemble the ship and get her out. They know I am not going to micromanage my senior engineers and they do a damn good job with repairs. So what if they're technically sneaking behind my back."

"There are eleven crew members who are aware of the full extent of the ensign's preparations. Most are lower level, though three are lieutenants." Tuvok walked back over to the padd and handed it to the captain. "Ensign Powell has provided the contact tree, though she suspects there are contingencies in the list that even she does not know."

The captain looked through it and handed the padd back to Tuvok, then stared out at the flurry of activity around the ship. The Erato were still restoring Voyager to her top form and, in some cases, making significant improvements to their weaponry and propulsion. The Erato's version of the Temporal Prime Directive kept them from providing Voyager with the full complement of 30th century technology available to them, especially since it could be tracked by the remaining hostile Erato present in this century. Even so, Voyager would leave their space with a better armament than before.

Janeway chose not to acknowledge the extent of the deception and desperation she had just experienced. There would be time for that in a little while. Instead, as she preferred, she went to the root of the problem.

"B'Elanna, would it be possible to move the plasma conduit into its correct location to keep it from overheating and taking down the hull?"

The half-Klingon Engineer leaned against the wall and tapped her chin. "Probably, but we'd need to rip out most of the torpedo bay to do it well. That's the plasma conduit that supplies most of the power to the ignition systems. We screw it up and a minor breech will be the least of our problems when shooting a torpedo blasts a ten decks wide hole in our hull."

"How long would it take," demanded the captain sharply, cutting off Lieutenant Torres' flippant reply.

"With these facilities? A week? Two weeks? It would depend on how quickly the Erato engineers can work and whether they have the raw materials. Most of their ships are made out of some crystalline-biomatter alloy that we can't use. I'll talk to Jelay and see if she can help me."

"Do it," said Janeway coldly. She turned to Seven of Nine. "Have you determined if the faulty programming in the structural integrity emitters can be rewritten?"

"Yes," she said in her clipped, dry tone. "It is surprising that it was not done before. Even with their limited ability, the engineers on Voyager would have been able to affect the change."

"Six requests were put in for that particular software change. They were all deemed low priority and put on indefinite hold," said Tuvok.

"Inefficient," the Borg reported. "I will complete the adjustments before the end of tomorrow."

Janeway didn't turn around. She was tired of this stream of information, the missed opportunities and ignored appeals that had left a terrified young woman enclosed in an empty lab. She was tired of hearing that her junior staff had taken it upon themselves to compensate for the uncaring distance of her senior staff. She was disappointed and angry, but she restrained herself. There had been enough volatile emotion for one day.

"B'Elanna, talk to the Erato. If you can't rebuild it, find a way to relocate the lab to a safer location. Dismissed." The Chief Engineer opened and closed her mouth, then stormed out of the ready room. Seven of Nine took that opportunity to leave as well, leaving Janeway alone with Tuvok.

"Tuvok, I need your assessment," she said throatily.

"I will assist you in any way possible."

"What do I do about this," she said, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

He looked thoughtful. "The logical course of action would be a formal reprimand and a discontinuation of her research until the lab can be rendered secure. I also suggest that the repairs to the ship be prioritized over moving the bioneural apparatus, since the misplaced plasma conduit poses a more significant threat than previously thought." He watched her face carefully. "However, I do not believe this is what you are asking about."

"Correct, Mr. Tuvok." She looked intently at her hands. "How many times has a console ruptured on the bridge during a battle? One hundred? Two hundred?"

"More times than I believe the builders intended."

"We all remain at our posts, correct?"

"Until it is no longer physically possible to do so, yes. We will try to restore functionality and move to a different duty station if it is available. We evacuate only in extreme emergencies, as in our most recent battle." He contemplated her further.

"Are you attempting to equivocate Ensign Irae's actions with our own? It is unlikely that any of us would remain in an area of the ship that was experiencing a hull breech, nor would any of us take such extreme measures to remain at our posts. It would be illogical to risk our lives for anything other than crucial ship functions. And while her duties may be important, they are not required."

"So you're saying her actions are not borne of logic?"

"Her actions do suggest that she is being irrational. The reasons, however, I do not know. I suspect it has to do with the explosive decompression of the outer lab during the Caretaker's transport of Voyager."

"I need to know, Tuvok, before I can render the appropriate judgment." Her voice was thick and gravelly.

"I understand, captain, though I am curious as to why you needed my guidance. I believe you were aware of all of this before our discussion."

"I just needed confirmation. And I want you to ask the questions. I don't think I can be objective right now"

"Understood." He breezed out of the room, leaving Janeway to her deep and unsettling thoughts.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

The summons came that night. At 0700 hours, Mileena found herself in the conference room before the senior staff. It was quite a different scene from the day before, in which they eagerly pulled her frozen body out of her encasement. Now it was a sea of angry faces that expected answers to questions she didn't want to deal with.

She'd prepared answers to their questions on the nature of the secondary systems. She procured the full list of materials and their sources. She named everyone in her tree of contacts and minimized their roles as best she could. She described the building of the system, from installing the emitters to deciding on the correct mixture of drugs. They asked her a few of these questions, letting her drift comfortably from fact to fact until Tuvok posed his request.

"Ensign, many crewmembers put themselves in danger for their work. However, you needlessly put yourself into a hazardous situation whenever there is a red alert. With all due respect, it is unlikely that your role in proteomics is significant enough to warrant remaining in place during a hull breech."

She tilted her head and went back to the moments before she'd sealed herself off. "The helm went offline, then came back up again, giving Mr. Paris back impulse engines. I was able to divert the standard connection to the bioneural gel that typically serves part of ops, which is why Mr. Kim probably had some issues with the internal sensors. Engineering was experiencing a problem with the plasma injectors, resulting in an overheating core. It wasn't just the Bakloth tractor beam. Two gel packs had burned out and transmission was failing. I rerouted them."

"You did those things," said Tuvok with a raised eyebrow. "Has that always been your job?"

She steepled her fingers in front of her, then quickly lowered them to the table. "The Daystrom's group was experimental as well as practical. We were in charge of tweaking and elaborating on our research, but we also monitored and adjusted gel function while in transit. Corvis, one of the other techs, spent a good amount of time trying to even out the data flow in engineering while Voyager was pursuing the Maquis vessel."

She hesitated, then chose her words carefully. "After the lab was...destroyed, I took on as many of their duties as I could. Up until the implant interface, I could do some shunting and offload some functions to CRE if the main computer lost connectivity. Now, I can see and act on a much finer level."

"Do your duties require you to stay in proteomics?"

"They have always worked most smoothly there, yes. The supercomputer is best accessed by the direct connection. Plus, more distance between CRE and I means more ways that I can get cut off."

"But you could move to Engineering," he suggested. "Or exobiology or astrometrics. You have at least ten other locations on the ship where you could station yourself during red alert."

"You don't abandon your post when things become difficult, sir. I can function up until a full hull breech, at which point any crewmember would be allowed to take extreme measures to save himself." She was becoming agitated in spite of herself.

"Yours are more extreme than any I have seen, ensign, which leads me to believe that there is something other than safety on your mind." He leaned forward and somehow made his even-toned Vulcan voice even smoother. "Tell me, ensign, how you came to be the only surviving member of the Daystrom lab."

He could not have knocked the wind out of her more effectively had he actually stood up and punched her in the gut. She struggled to regain her composure, to take in another lungful of air, but her body wouldn't cooperate. A few tiny breaths were all she could manage, which contributed to the dizzying spin that her world began to take. She put her hands in her lap and clenched them into a shaking fist. None of this worked to still her nerves. She sat there, frozen and trembling, unable to answer or to speak at all.

"Is there a problem, ensign," asked Chakotay. The blood pounding in her ears and the sound of her own failing attempts at breathing muted him and the rest of the room to nothing. She looked at the table, watching her own reflection struggle against itself.

"I...don't remem..." She paused. That was a lie. She did remember. She just buried it so deeply and so completely that she barely saw it in dreams. All she usually accessed were snippets and catches of sight and sound, but the experience was there, alive and whole, hidden so well that it made her safety protocol look shoddy.

"Try," stated the captain flatly.

"I. I..." she fumbled. "I. was in the wet lab. Running. Samples. We were. Trying to get the enzymatic. Activity...better?" Her voice began shaking so hard that sentences came out in a anxiety-laden staccato. "The alert...sounded and I called Ellen R…Reardon in to. Finish. My culture so I could get to my post. She told me to stay."

She looked up at the conference room, but didn't see anyone in it. All she saw was the distorted view of the outer lab as it had looked from the wet lab almost six years ago.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Mileena had not really enjoyed the setup of Voyager's wetlab. There was this odd alcove in the back, separated from the rest of the lab by a half-wall and its curving window. The rest of the team made unkind comments back and forth about how the distortion made her look like she was far more shapely than she actually was. Her retort was that it still hadn't managed to make any of them look vaguely attractive, which was a pretty lame retort all things considered, but her humor had always been mild. If she got annoyed enough, she'd shut the door to the wet lab and make rude gestures through the transparent polymer while throwing together her science.

There was a white-coated cluster of men and women bustling around their equipment, tweaking levels and reading consoles to each other. There were heated words and a few muffled complaints about how hard it was to monitor the gel in real time rather than in simulation. Dr. Evanstuck was chiding everyone on being less than scientific while himself attempting to wrestle the gel transmissions back into their normal parameters. Clovis spinning in his chair from table to table, pounding out the rhythms of his research and cursing festively. Mileena had put her head back over her table and was, dish by dish, row by row, pipetting the growth buffer into yet another culture, chatting into her duty log as she went. Somehow, Voyager's warp engines were making them grow 20% faster, which meant that she'd ended up with neuron shrubs instead of neuron plates. Yet another failure, but the type that could be fixed.

_Red alert. All hands to battle stations._

"Ellen, I need to get to the left console. They have me watching energy usage on the bridge during a red alert. Can you swap in?"

"Oh god, I hate cell culture. I can figure out how to read a glorified oscilloscope. You keep slopping neurons and I'll take over."

Mileena didn't look up. She had moved on to the experimental compounds, the types of things that would burn off your skin and rupture your lungs if you so much as looked at them funny. She tossed on her protective equipment and initiated the level 10 forcefield around the door to the wet lab. They'd have enough to worry about during red alert without her coating them in toxic glop.

"You're a sweetheart. Thank you." The last words she ever spoke to them. At least they were kind.

The ship jarred, then jumped. More swearing and an atmosphere of panic. These weren't soldiers. These were scientists who had spent most of their lives on planets or starbases. Having their equipment swinging off the walls was completely new. Power was shorting left and right. Clovis' console electrified and sent him to the floor, screaming as the plasma burn ate away at his hand. The lab's collective attention went to him, away from their consoles, away from their duties.

The cultures had slid off the bench, spattering Mileena and contaminating almost every surface with their contents. She fumbled through one of the cabinets for a binding agent. She sprayed herself, the bench, and the entirety of the wet lab, hoping that the mist would sequester and inactivate the dangerous agent. Next, she set the entire room into lockdown. Secondary forcefields went up and a transparent secondary bulkhead lowered itself across the window and door. She didn't particularly like being sealed in here, but at least her colleagues would be safe from her sloppiness. None of the contaminant would leak into the primary lab. Then, she looked up again.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Bringing her eyes to level with the room took almost as much effort as pushing her mind back into that day. She'd gone so far into her thoughts that she could read neither compassion nor concern in the faces of her tormenters, her superiors. All she saw was their hatred and their disappointment.

"Do you know what a hull breech sounds like when you're centimeters away," she said, her voice full of wonder and dreadful awe. "It's a monstrous, reverberating roar. I remember thinking that it was the sound our ancestors must have dreaded, the sound of some beast reaching out a talon to swipe them away." She clenched her teeth down on the insides of her cheeks, trying to maintain even a sliver of control.

"And that's what it did. They were just gone. There wasn't a struggle or any attempt to save themselves. One moment, they were trying to figure out how to help Clovis and the next, there was just an empty space where the lab should have been. Where I should have been."

She had screamed, she thought, and banged her fists against the bulkheads in frustration, then pulled back. The walls were flimsy things, weren't they? Internal barriers built for decor and contamination control, not support against the vacuum of space. They could collapse at any point and she'd die just as quickly as they did. She pressed herself against the benches and waited either for her death or her rescue by Engineering. Neither came.

"I don't think they knew we were there. Daystrom...wasn't on...the crew roster...as such. So engineering didn't check, or figured...that the damage had killed everyone. I realized this after the first day. I'd been forgotten, but...I held out some hope that someone...would remember."

Her teeth were chattering so loud that she was almost unheard over the sound of her panic.

"The power...would go in and out. The life support failed a handful of times and the carbon dioxide would build up until I passed out. That was...I think...my least favorite part. The inevitable choking and slow...fading. The misplaced...plasma conduit...would occasionally experience energy surges. It...seared the metal and made the floor too hot to touch. I'd curl up on the counter and try not to burn myself. It was...preferable to the cold. The structural...integrity...field doesn't efficiently hold in heat. It's a stopgap. It got to...below freezing a few times." She shuddered. "I...had some...liquid for the samples. Saline. Buffer. It...ran...out very quickly. I didn't...think to ration at first. And of course, the entire wet lab had...a fine coating of chemical contaminants."

She tried to regain control, but it had slipped through her fingers. "I could see the ship... Pieces of debris...would float by in the darkness. Sometimes, I thought...I'd see someone in the hallway, but it was just an illusion. It was just me."

"We were beamed off by the Caretaker several times," pressed Tuvok. "Did you not come with us?"

"No, not that I could recall. The forcefields...were the most powerful available and somehow, they stayed online. I can only assume that the forcefields screened out enough of his beam that he left me there. After all, he wanted intact specimens. Scattering...half of my atoms...would have been undesirable."

"How did you leave?"

"I walked out," she said. Just a few more minutes, she told herself. They'll let you out soon and then you can hide for the next fifty years away from all of this.

"Explain," he demanded.

"The lights came on...in the hallway outside proteomics, I mean. Power...must have been restored. I had gotten...so tired of being alone that I took the chance. I dropped the forcefields and left."

Her list mirrored the almost catatonic monotony of those few days.

"I went to my quarters. I used a sanitation program to get rid of my chemical contaminants. I got changed. I drank a nutritional supplement. I went to sleep. I drank more fluids. I did this for two days. Then I began repairs."

"Did you seek any medical attention," asked Tuvok. "Prolonged exposure to what you deemed toxic chemicals should have required treatment."

"I remained in my protective gear until I exited the wet lab, limiting my time in contact with the materials. My physical injuries were minimal and I had access to a dermal regenerator. I intuited that Sickbay would be overwhelmed, so I stayed away."

"Did you tell anyone where you were or what had happened," continued Chakotay.

"I introduced myself to Mariah. She was glad to share a room with someone who wasn't Starfleet. People asked me where I'd come from and I said the Daystrom. They asked me what happened to my team and I said they died when the Caretaker moved Voyager." Mileena turned her hands over in her lap. She knew this was not what he was asking. She groped for the answer that wouldn't upset them further. "Otherwise, no, commander. I have never spoken of this to anyone. Not even to Ensign Powell."

"This is the first time you've told anyone about what happened to you down there," asked the captain. Her voice was shaded and low, but not angry. "And in the meantime, you have taken on the burden of carrying on their work in the place that almost killed you, emulating their death and your imprisonment every time we go into battle."

Mileena didn't think that she had these tears within her, but they fell forward as wildly and uncontrollably as the rushing vacuum that had swept away everything she knew. Covering her face did nothing to stem them, nor muffle the sobs in front of the otherwise silent room. For the first time since she had escaped that terrible prison, she touched the memories, reaching her hand down into the void and gripping the grief in her palm. It was not just the people she had lost. It was the destruction of the comfortable place in which she dwelled, the belonging, and the daily peace that came with being only dimly cognizant of one's own mortality. It was the continual fear that she would be forgotten, once again, to suffer her tiny days alone in a coffin and of losing everything one more time.

The panic had seized her so that she was not aware that she was begging them, pleading with them to never abandon her in that terrible place again. The words came in a torrent devoid of logic or restraint. She would hold her station for as long as she could, but once that hull breeched, she didn't want to see space from the other side of a thin shimmer of energy. She needed those protective layers with its promise of a quick end instead of lingering, torturous descent. She hadn't been trained, as had those in Starfleet, to watch casual death take people you cared about in the blink of an eye. She hadn't learned what it meant for everything you did to be absolutely futile. She wouldn't run away, she couldn't, she owed it to them. They died so she could live. The least she could do...the least...

A warm hand placed itself on her shoulder and gripped her gently. "It's alright, Mileena. You don't need to explain anymore."

Mileena looked up through her blurred eyes. The conference room was empty, save the commanding presence of Chakotay in front of her. No, that wasn't accurate. The captain was sitting nearby, her hands clasped on the table in front of them, obscured by the bulk of her subordinate's body. Her face had softened, though jagged frown lines still creased her fair skin and lit her angular features. The ensign raised her head and met his gaze, tears still rolling her cheeks.

"I-I'm sorry, sir."

"Don't be. You've been concealing this for long enough. No one will judge you for being overwhelmed."

"Everyone lost someone that day, commander," she whispered. "I don't have the right to grieve like this. Alice's supervisor was burned to death in front of her, but she doesn't emotionally collapse when she tells the story."

"These were your close friends, Mileena," he replied. "Not that Ensign Soohoo's loss wasn't important, but it's of a different scale. And she wasn't trapped for four days. You were."

"You all...make it seem so easy. Surviving. Battling. Dealing with death."

"There is never a time, even in the life of a Starfleet officer, where it becomes easy to lose ones crewmates." He crouched beside her, now putting both hands on her shaking shoulders. "I have seen dozens of men and women killed under my command. I may not be able to show it, but it affects me each time. I worry about the day when it doesn't."

"We all learn to process grief, Mileena," said the captain, who until this moment had remained quietly listening in the background. "We all develop mechanisms for handling it in whatever form it comes. In Starfleet, we learned more quickly than most how to set aside our emotions in the heat of battle, but the healthiest also learned how to come to terms with what they saw in moments of peace."

"How," replied the broken scientist. "Where do I start? I've mourned a father, I've...had many personal losses, but I don't know how to begin with this."

"That's up to you," said Chakotay, releasing her and sitting on the conference room table. "I can talk you through some meditation techniques. You can go to the Doctor, though no promises on his psychology subroutines. You can even talk to Neelix. His experiences in the war, and his healing from it, may provide you some guidance and some peace."

"In the short term, sir?"

He looked back at the captain for input. She spoke in a carefully modulated tone that concealed everything but her ultimate command.

"In the short term, get some rest, ensign. Lieutenant Torres is looking at the feasibility of making the structural adjustments necessary. Should that not be possible, we'll discuss other safety precautions. We won't leave you there again."

Mileena clung to Janeway's words with all her might, taking solace in her captain's presence, the even syllables she spoke, her chiseled features, all the things that made up the captain's very essence. Chakotay was comforting, but the captain gave her a foothold in the storm. Had her tears not already been spent, Mileena would have sobbed from gratitude.

"Thank you, ma'am," she whispered. "May I return to my quarters?"

"You may. Take the rest of the day off to recover. Dismissed."

Mileena stood uneasily, then shifted her weight so that she could lean on the table. She took another glance at her towering superiors, then fled as politely as she could. In her quarters, she stripped off her uniform, balled up on the couch, and cried until she fell asleep.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Chakotay sat across from Janeway and rubbed his tattoo. There was a palpable fatigue in both of their demeanors. Even though it was barely an hour into alpha shift, they both felt like they had pulled an all-nighter. Grief was tiring. Unrestrained, raw agony was even more so. Every word of the ensign's report had clung to them like a tiny weighted needle until they were both dragged down in her shadow. They shared their silence until Tuvok, Seven, and B'Elanna returned.

Everyone looked at each other, no one quite knowing where to start. Torres took the initiative, tentatively. "Jelay said the modifications will be done by the end of tomorrow. I don't know how she's going to do it, but I take her at her word." As if to confirm the engineer's comment, a flock of small ships surrounded Voyager and over a dozen spacewalking Erato emerged onto her hull. Torres was privately awed at how much loyalty the half-Trill could incite in both Voyager's crew and the Erato contingent. More than she deserved, that was for sure.

"I have completed the modifications to the emitter redistribution program. It should no longer incorrectly draw power from other decks. I will find a way to bolster the structural integrity field without putting deck four in danger," continued Seven.

"Captain, there is the matter of discipline," said Tuvok. While he did not feel emotions as did the rest of the non-Borg crew, he had not been unaffected by the ensign's overwrought display. Somehow, many of the punishments he had been planning were no longer appropriate. It was not mercy. It was merely illogical to inflict further pain on someone already aggrieved.

"Yes, of course. What do you propose, Mr. Tuvok?"

"For the eleven crewmembers involved, I suggest suspending holodeck and replicator privileges for thirty days. They must also spend all non-duty time confined to quarters for the same amount of time. I will arrange food delivery at regular intervals. In addition, Lieutenant Carey should be stripped of his rank and spend 30 days in the brig, since he is the senior officer in this matter."

He heard Torres swear and ignored it.

"For Ensign Irae, I suggest that all work on the bioneural interface be suspended indefinitely, pending further review. She will be reassigned to another department. Perhaps astrometrics or Sickbay. However, no other reprimand will be required."

"I do not see how stopping work on a beneficial project is a logical punishment," replied Seven. "In fact, I find these proceedings illogical. Voyager prides itself on unusual solutions, yet you are penalizing these crewmembers for acting in their ally's best interest. The Collective asked for success. The actions of individual drones were irrelevant."

Everyone turned expectantly to the captain. This was usually her space to correct Seven's misconceptions about the operation of a starship and the importance of crew cohesion. Janeway stayed quiet for a few moments longer. When she did answer, it seemed unusually reserved and darkly thoughtful.

"We do not fully understand the actions of the Erato Head Scientist. Indeed, we all find genocide abhorrent, but we accept that the plague was her best attempt to save her people. Yet now we judge the ensign and her associates for doing the same thing." She looked around the room, then resumed speaking with just an incremental shift in volume. "They've wasted no resources and broken no protocols. Their duty to the ship and to each other has been exemplary. Their only crime, it seems, is secrecy." Janeway closed her grey-blue eyes. "I can't reward that, but I can't accept this scale of punishment."

"Very well. What do you suggest?"

"Disciplinary meetings with their department heads. A complete review of all security or other protocols in which they are involved that they have deliberately kept secret. I'll leave it to your discretion whether those protocols should be kept, modified, or removed; just report them to me. Suspend their holodeck privileges for a month and replicator rations down to three per day for the same duration. Send Lieutenant Carey to me. He and I need to have a talk," she said. It was absolutely no good for the second-best engineer to be sneaking around behind the back of his now-livid chief.

"And what of the ensign," queried Tuvok. The significant downgrade in punitive measures was not unexpected, though disappointing. He had hoped to send a more severe message.

"What about her?"

"You believe that the disciplinary proceedings above are sufficient for her role as instigator?"

"I believe that she and Seven need to walk through every safety measure and emergency protocol that proteomics has implemented, then all the ones that just Ensign Irae has for herself. Implement similar ration and holodeck restrictions," said Janeway. "Stress to the ensign that further deception by omission will be absolutely unacceptable. Allow the bioneural work to continue, but mark any deviation from my instructions, no matter how slight, in your daily report. Is that clear?"

Even though she was not being reprimanded and merely instructed to deliver the captain's will, Seven still blanched. "Of course, captain."

"Anything else," demanded Janeway, heading out towards the bridge with the tacit implication that this whole matter was settled. The exchanged glances did not countermand her desires.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

The insistent pinging of the door chime roused Mileena from her grief-drenched slumber. Fumbling for a robe near the bed, she checked a chronometer. It was already 1900 hours. She'd been sleep for most of the day. Woozy, she stumbled out of her small bedroom and out into the main chamber.

She went to the replicator for a drink. A warning chimed at her; she was out of rations. Lovely. Her punishment had already begun; she should personally apologize to everyone who was about to suffer due to her stupidity. Well, whomever was out there would need to wait a little longer. She moved into the bathroom, filled a receptacle with water, and drifted back into the main room.

The chime sounded again. "Enter," she commanded blearily.

The Erato Head Scientist swept into her room in a rush of rustling fabric and glowering figure. Her customary orange skin remained a glossy jet, giving Mileena no indication of the woman's feelings until the spindly Erato crossed her arms in front of her and glowered.

"You're alive," she spat.

"It is good to see you too, Jelay," replied Mileena, not rising to the bait. She'd sent a signal to the Erato base once she'd come out of cold storage and had personally informed a gleeful Zenmay that she was still alive. However, she'd avoided any contact with Jelay, mostly for this exact reason.

"You don't even care, do you? It doesn't occur to you that people around you suffer when you do something terrible to yourself. You move through life in a selfish haze."

"Of course I care," she snapped, waking up in a flash. "But my priorities are different. Science first, everything else next, even my own life. You should understand that."

"Except it's not the science. It's that you have this odd relationship with yourself. You save yourself and despise yourself at the same time." Jelay, white clad and obsidian skinned, looked down at her adopted underling with a merciless growl. "I'd slap you if I thought it would help."

"I've taken enough blows that I can say, with certainty, that you will not get what you want." Mileena set her jaw, steadied her gait, and tensed her muscles instinctively. She shaded her eyes with her translucent eyelids and took in a solid breath.

"I am aware, child, which is another reason that I'm here." Jelay took a step back and contemplated one of the small statues on Mileena's low shelf, then lifted it from a carved wooden pedestal nearly as dark as her abnormally hued skin. It was an intricately molded piece of blue stone that, depending on the angle, looked like a flower, a tree, or a delicately feathered bird. She ran her taloned fingers across the surface and watched the ensign's face as she might a particularly recalcitrant specimen.

Mileena didn't let her muscles relax, swallowed hard, and breathed out. "Oh?"

"I read the report from the surgery and had a brief conversation with your Doctor. His reluctance to divulge your medical information was tempered by his worry for you and my assurance that this was professional." Had she retained her shifting capacity, she would have been a burning deep ochre. "Concealing this from your Doctor is an unwise plan, especially now that you're filled with hardware. He wanted to spare you unnecessary suffering. I'm not bound by any sort of restriction."

Mileena sagged and unwound her body. She returned to her couch and drew out a thin woven blanket, which she pulled around herself, then sat cross-legged on the floor.

"What did you want me to say to him? That I was used as a punching bag by someone I loved for the better part of two years? That I was too damn cowardly to get away and that it took losing my commission for me to get my head on straight?" She let out a sigh, but didn't give evidence to any emotion besides frustration. She'd moved past grieving that particular mistake, except when she really wanted to cause herself profound emotional pain.

"As it was, there were doubts about my handling the surgery. Should I convince them all that I was somehow unstable because I was too weak to flee an abuser?"

Jelay sat beside her and grabbed her rounded chin in her fingertips, her eyes slitted and dangerous. Several million years ago, Mileena's ancestors would have obviously been the Erato's ancestor's prey. That instinctive revulsion kicked in and the half-Trill shrank back unsuccessfully.

"Whomever that person was didn't value your life and taught you the same lesson. You need to put that down right now. Whatever lingering guilt or shame you have needs to be stripped away. It's made you self-destructive and careless. Eventually, it will get you killed or, even worse, kill the people you care about. You will absolutely not be able to live with yourself afterward.

"Yes, ma'am," replied Mileena and found she meant it more than she'd intended to. "It will be a process."

"Everything is, Y'leena." The Erato released her, sat down, and sighed. Then, she briefed the half-Trill on the totality of what had occurred in her absence.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Humans have tai chi, Klingons have the _mok'bara_, and Trill have _wrentoh_, the peaceful martial art of redirection and meditation. It was one of those activities that had been forced on her as a child in the hopes that she'd be more at ease as a rare half-breed on Trill. So three time a week, until her father died, she went to class and performed the big round gestures that would bring soundness and harmony of mind and body.

Predictably, Mileena was firmly mediocre at it. She didn't necessarily dislike _wrentoh_, but her limbs didn't move in that way and she had stalled somewhere in the middle ranks before she quit in a fury of racial hatred. She liked the _mok'bara_ more, mostly because higher ranks used a _bat'leth._ The only weapons in _wrentoh_ were a pair of heavy sticks called _mers_ that weren't nearly as exciting as a curved blade.

But in her increasingly copious free time, she'd taken _wrentoh_ up again as a way of calming her mind and trying to embrace her Trill heritage once again. Plus, Lauren promised to modify the _mers _into tiny _bat'leths_ if Mileena got good enough. Overall, it was going as well as could be expected. Many more days on enforced leave and she'd end up as a grandmaster by the time they reached the alpha quadrant.

Mileena tossed the green-grey uniform into the replicator and debated whether to refresh it or to just delete it forever, maybe rendering into a pile of fruit with an alcoholic finish. Today's session had been unbalanced, primarily because she'd been fighting with her emotions over reliving those days in her prison. She'd never realized how deeply she had pushed those memories and feelings. She'd spent most of yesterday crying, then the better part of the morning slightly numb. The _wrentoh_ had actually done its job and even if she were sore, she was certainly more centered. Tonight might bring more bad dreams or terrible thoughts, but she was okay for now.

She took a quick sonic shower and pulled tight gloves over her palm contacts to keep them out of her way. To hell with taking out and putting in all those plugs if she didn't have to. Clad in her own variant of the Erato wrap, specially made for her by the two grateful young Erato who finally could return to their life together, she wandered around the living area. It was floor length and the same deep blue as her standard uniform. They'd shown her how to wear it a few times, but she still ended up looking like she'd just wrapped a band of fabric haphazardly around her legs and torso. The toga-like dress was exceptionally comfortable and a fair sight more attractive than her usual civilian garb. In a few short days, it had become her go-to civilian uniform, even if it meant she looked like an unmade bed.

She decided that fruit, sans alcohol, was the correct meal. A bowl of assorted berries and an oversized apple appeared in the replicator. She spread out on the couch and began reading another update from the asteroid labs. The combination of the two cures was progressing well. They might have an atmospheric variant ready within a few months. She sighed and pressed her forehead down on the orange cushions. Damn, she should be with them, helping them along instead of idling in her room because she was an idiot.

She tossed the padd aside and flipped over onto her back, unsuccessfully untangling herself from the draping blue outfit, then crunched on the apple experimentally. Not bad. Now she was ready to do the heavy thinking she'd been avoiding. The captain. Her lovely captain. The brilliant, commanding, remarkable auburn-haired and blue-eyed woman whose brief physical touches sent Mileena's senses reeling. Even more so now that the touches were decidedly no longer brief. She saw the way the captain looked at her, a far more controlled version of Mileena's already restrained longing. She'd taken into consideration both Jelay's and Lauren's observation of the captain's movements.

Then there was the slightly amusing fact that the captain had been watching her duty logs from the past five years. It wasn't something Mileena had meant to find out. One was active when she was trying to make an addendum, leading to her probing and discovering the access pattern. Janeway had been listening to them at random intervals during the day, but more telling, she'd keep them on through the night. Mileena should have found it creepy. She didn't. She knew exactly how the captain felt, only she didn't think to reach out to her in that way. Closeness without divulging closeness.

Mileena needed to act. Maybe when the captain was in the wet lab to watch another startup sequence? They'd need to put some distance between them to make sure this wasn't some sort of emotional bleed-over from the stress of being with the Erato. Or, wait, maybe waiting longer would make them both care less? She didn't want that to happen either. Thank you, brain, for overthinking everything. And most likely, the captain was going to turn her down for some reason involving Mileena being her subordinate or duty or whatever. Best not to get your hopes up, Mileena.

Her musings, punctuated by her light dinner, were interrupted by Lauren's door chime.

"Yeah, come in." The door hissed open and shut as her diminutive friend entered her increasingly messy quarters.

"You're just in time for fruit with nothing, because that's what I have the rations for."

"Then I'm glad I'm not here for fine cuisine, ensign." Janeway stood smiling at the doorframe, causing Mileena to flail up from the couch and barely steady herself as she caught herself in a fold of the toga-like garment. "May I come in?"

"Of course," said Mileena, attempting to rearrange the drape so it adequately covered most of her skin. "Would you like some fruit with...fruit?"

"I'll pass," said the captain. Her eyes drifted across Mileena's outfit. "You've taken to wearing the Erato uniform."

"This is technically their base clothing, just like pants and a top are for us. The adornments make it uniform, informal, or formal. They gave me a set of chimes and bangles for use in ceremonies, but they're made for someone without my hair and I don't like jingling so much when I walk. Also, I don't know when I'd have a chance to wear them. I'm not often at formal dinners or dances." Stop babbling, she told herself. This is just not the time.

"It's appropriate. You wear it well." The captain stood there looking at Mileena, inspecting her face and her body. There was a beat of silence until she continued. "I wanted to come check on you and see how you're handling things." The last word, so innocuous in conversation, held too much meaning. Mileena fought not to unravel in front of this woman again.

Mileena tipped her head upward, concealing the emotions that threatened to spill across her face and push tears out of her eyes once again. "I'm not at a place, mentally, where I can plumb that depth appropriately. I've covered the memories for so long that I'm scared that I'll drown in the emotions again. I...need time." She clasped her hands behind her, but didn't look down. "It's not like me to collapse like that, captain. I need to do this slowly so I don't again."

Mileena heard the captain move into the room a few more steps. "There's no rush, ensign. As I said before, there is no easy way to process this sort of hurt. No one will hold it against you."

"Thank you, captain." Mileena brought her chin down and considered her guest. The woman's small frame radiated confidence and poise. Mileena wanted to beckon her forward to linger on the couch in the half-Trill's arms. She wanted to trace her fingers along the captain's sides and feel her warmth against her body. She wanted, no, needed to see where this led.

"It was never my intention to make you suffer, Mileena. Had I known that you had witnessed their deaths or that you'd been trapped in that forcefield during our time with the Caretaker, I would have proceeded with greater delicacy. I'm sorry, Mileena, for making you to relive those moments." The captain's blue-grey eyes were soft and revealing as she extended her apology. "I'm responsible for the well-being of my crew, physically and mentally, and I shirked that responsibility."

"Captain," Mileena said, then stopped. Where was that sentence going? "I think you and I both know about responsibility and where it should stop, even if neither of us is especially good at making that demarcation. You can't be responsible for my feelings any more than I can be responsible for yours." But I want to be, sang Mileena's mind. I want to make you deliriously happy.

"I'll take that under advisement." The captain's tone indicated that the conversation was over, but her body angled forward towards Mileena's. Her entire face was welcoming and reassuring. Maybe there was still a bit more conversation to be had? That was the rationale Mileena used when her mouth kept moving in spite of her brain's insistence otherwise.

"You know, as a scientist, I learned how to clinically distance myself from things that were too intense for me to handle, then dissect them into something I could handle when I was alone. It served me well for as long as I can remember, but sometimes I don't know...how to put a boundary on it. How to make it manageable. I just hide from it. I build a wall and encircle it. But walls can break."

"I know," replied Janeway softly.

"There are so many things I've been hiding from. That day is like a fortress that I will need to disassemble, brick by brick. But there are other, smaller things, whose walls I can leap over if I have the courage."

_Oh god, I'm really going to do this. This is absolutely not the time, but when else will I have her alone?_

Two steps and she was just a few centimeters from the captain, who did not draw away and instead tilted her face to look at the ensign's. The combination of Mileena's bare feet and the captain's boots decreased their height difference, but not enough that Mileena could fully gaze into the younger woman's eyes to see just what was reflected there.

"Captain. Kathryn," she tried experimentally. The exquisite, intelligent woman in front of her remained quiet. Unlike every other lover she had wooed, Janeway did not show her emotions. She wasn't trembling or expectant, nor did she give any sense of wishing to reciprocate. The only sign she gave was a light flush that delicately accented her pale skin. Not passive, either. Just patient.

"I can't hide this anymore," Mileena said, hoping that the courage in her gut would keep up just long enough to finish these precious sentences. "The way I feel about you is...so hard to put into words. This electric attraction to everything about you. Mind and body in unison, your strength, your grace, your intellect, your beauty. The way you look at me. The times you've touched me. The time we've spent together. Let me take down this wall between us."

She brought one hand up and stroked the captain's cheek, then leaned down and pressed her lips to Janeway's, not daring to push farther without some sort of indication. Janeway deepened the contact into a full kiss, clasping Mileena's hand with her own. She reached out and encircled Mileena's waist, drawing her insistently closer until their bodies touched along every lovely centimeter. Mileena was electrified and dizzied with passion, closing her eyes to submerge herself in the sensation. Janeway radiated heat and scientist could feel their pulses thrumming in unison. She never wanted to forget this moment and wanted to live within every heartbeat as if it were a lifetime, yet her mind and body raced ahead with desire and joy. She wanted Kathryn so much that she had to keep from sinking to the floor with this remarkable woman in her arms.

But Mileena had kissed enough women over her life to know when one was beginning to change her mind. Mileena slackened, then withdrew her mouth, opening her eyes, but not releasing Janeway's hand from her own. For a few tantalizing milliseconds, Janeway's face lingered, her eyes closed, and Mileena thought she might have misread. But then the shorter woman opened them and blinked her red lashes in contemplation. Gently, the captain pulled away, untangling herself from Mileena's body until they were no longer touching at all.

"Mileena," she said, her voice husky and dark. "I can't pretend that I don't have feelings for you. It would be wonderful to explore and...deepen our connection. But I also can't pretend that my primary duty isn't to this ship and its crew. Voyager is so far from home and I can't let anything, not even my desire for closeness, interfere with my role as captain. It wouldn't be fair to the crew to have me distracted or putting my needs before theirs. And it wouldn't be fair for you to be with someone who could never give herself to you wholly."

Mileena threw together what little bits of her scientific demeanor that she could access at this point and readjusted her garment. _End it gracefully, Mileena. That's the least you can do to salvage your working relationship._

"Of course, captain. I'm sorry to have put you in a difficult position."

"No, Ens-Mileena, please," Janeway was gentle, but firm. "Don't apologize. I should have recognized this complication before it went this far. I'm sorry for hurting you." The captain's small body sagged slightly and her face was more conflicted than almost any face Mileena had seen in her many decades.

"It's fine, captain. Sometimes exploration doesn't lead to the outcome we expected." She walked back towards her couch and picked up a padd, just to do something with her hands, to keep from clenching them in fury or from throwing them around the captain's neck again. "I should probably complete my implant self-assessment before returning to the lab tomorrow."

"Yes, of course. I'll leave you to work." The captain turned and took a step, then paused when Mileena spoke again.

"Thank you, captain, for being honest with me."

The captain's voice caught. "And you, ensign."

As the dead cold settled around her heart, Mileena took a few empty breaths. It had gone as she had expected, just not as she had hoped. And she had, for once, hoped. There had been so much promise in that kiss. All that sweetness and all that longing in a single moment of wonderful connection. Then, almost predictably, it was taken away. Now, there was nothing for her to hope for, nothing to try for. She could, perhaps, pursue the captain and try to attract her interest, but she knew that she'd lose that battle of wills. Plus, there was no sense in coaxing a reluctant someone into a tentative romantic embrace. It was, in a word, distasteful. She put the experience aside, mentally wrapping it in soft silks and storing it away. Perhaps she would reminisce when the pain was less sharp.

Distraction. She needed distraction. She made a report to Jelay about the encounter with the captain. In desperation, she requested to stay with the Erato and was rapidly turned down.

"You'll be miserable and alone, no matter how many labs take you in or underlings surround you. You'll never be truly part of us, especially as you approach old age while we are still young. Never doubt that I care for you, Y'leena, and that we would enjoy your company. That isn't enough to take you from your people. But," she'd said, sorrow spreading across her obsidian features. "I'm sorry. I'd hope she'd be less blind."

They bid their goodbyes, promised to meet once more, and the console went dark.

She convinced herself that there was no reason to waste the rest of this nervous energy. With a few clicks, she summoned Pablo to her quarters with the promise of a late snack. When he arrived, his beautiful dark features half-smirking with intent, she brought him inside and indicated that his long-fought battle to win her had finally succeeded. But Baytart had also kissed enough women to tell when emotions were true or when they were conflicted. Moments within touching her full lips to his, he'd shaken his head and wrapped her up in his arms. He touched his forehead to hers in a gesture of fondness, then kept her close as she sobbed. He spent the night, fully clothed, trying as best he could to soothe away the bitterness and loss at an injury she could not share with him.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

If Janeway had spent an hour playing Velocity, her heart rate couldn't have rushed any faster or more insistent than it was at that moment. Out, out, get out, her brain screamed to her. Anywhere, right now, just not in the hallway where you can be seen. She flung herself into the turbolift and jammed it shut.

"Bridge," she commanded, then reconsidered. "Computer, halt turbolift."

The elevator whirred to a stop. Janeway gripped the back panels with white-knuckled hands and tried to calm herself down. She mustered every minute of command training she possessed to settle herself into a state that she could begin to think clearly. This wasn't the place to do it, though. A stuck turbolift would bring questions from security, which might bring more questions from the keen-eyed Tuvok as to why the captain was in such a panic.

Her breath slowed through force of will alone. "Computer, resume turbolift." She hesitated. "Deck 2." This would be easier in her quarters.

In the middle of beta shift, the corridors were relatively empty, for which she was exceptionally grateful on this exceptional night. She breezed into her room, voice-locked the door, and sat down heavily on her couch, shivering with effort and tension. Then, she pressed her reddening hands against her eyes as if to wake herself from a torturous dream.

She had been kissed by, and kissed, the striking scientist whom she had longed for these many weeks. She'd been taken in Mileena's arms and gently possessed by those pale brown hands. Then, in Janeway's inevitable way, she had taken command, demanding more contact and more sensation until she was faint with desire. Only then, when she had dared imagine their bodies entwining, had Janeway summoned up enough self-control to pull away. Or had it been Mileena who stopped first? The captain couldn't tell. It didn't really matter at this moment.

She turned the visit over and over in her head, trying to rotate it so that she could have some insight into just what had happened. Why had she gone to the ensign's quarters? Certainly Janeway was concerned about the fragility of the half-Trill's emotion after her collapse in the conference room. Janeway couldn't act as if that the visit was much more selfish than that. She went there for absolution for the neglect and hurt inflicted so easily on her crewmember. But most of all, she had gone to see Mileena in private so Kathryn could pretend that there wasn't an uncrossable gap of rank and duty between them.

Janeway should have left the moment she saw Mileena lying there across her couch, draped in ocean-blue fabric that highlighted her beautiful dark skin and lanky body. Had the scientist known just how much skin it showed when she wasn't attending to its positioning? Her perfectly rounded breasts, the delicate arch of her neck, and the cascade of her black hair had formed a scene so breathtaking that she welcomed Mileena's half-ignorant greeting to her friend. That had given Janeway a few seconds to collect herself instead of lunging at the exquisite woman with all her force and wrapping themselves together in the draping cloth.

Or Janeway could have left when it was clear where the conversation was going. Or when Mileena's face had taken on an expression of hesitation and delight. Or when her warm amber eyes glinted with excitement. Or when she had tenderly bridged the physical gap. Or when she extended a kiss that gave Janeway the option to demure gracefully. Instead, Janeway had given herself the desperately needed luxury of true physical intimacy and was nearly crushed by its intensity.

She'd recognized her mistake quickly enough not to do lasting damage, she told herself. They'd both been rejected by lovers in the past. They were both professionals. Mileena seemed to have taken it in stride. So what if the glittering fire in her yellow eyes had gone out, leaving the cold scientific demeanor in its place. That was appropriate for the setting. They'd be fine, if only Janeway could stifle the cold regret that was spreading from her gut up through her spine. The dancing devil of "what if" whispered in her ear in Mileena's charming voice.

Janeway was grateful, then, that the Head Scientist had chosen this moment to say her goodbyes. The captain fled up to the bridge and made herself ready to greet the infuriating Erato. She'd push this memory back and pretend it didn't happen. She'd done it with Chakotay. She could certainly do it with Mileena.

Jelay's and Janeway's first meeting had been in a forcefield-bordered transporter room. Their last, on the other hand, was in the comfortable confines of the captain's ready room. The ebony-hued Erato had folded herself gracefully onto the couch and was drinking a cup of tea as both she and the captain watched the stream of fighters and freighters around the asteroid base. The scientist's face was wistful, but at peace.

"It is hard to believe that just two weeks ago, I despaired of our people ever finding the stars again. Now, we can flow from planet to planet as easily as before. Already, our former trading partners are sending supplies and, more important, support." She looked at the captain with gratitude. "Thank you, captain, for making this happen. We could not have done this without you." She smiled along with the smaller human. "Did you know that you already have an entire clutch of eggs named after you?"

"Really," said Janeway with a wry grin. "Do I want to know what caste they're going to be in?"

The Erato displayed her pointed teeth. "There's been some discussion over that. We're putting a few different people in with them and seeing what comes out." She shook her head and rose to put her cup back on the replicator. "We still are impressed by your changeable nature, but we may need to adapt ourselves." She shifted the topic and returned to the couch.

"Voyager will be leaving tomorrow, correct?"

"Assuming that the repairs on the photon torpedo bay are finished, yes." Janeway wrinkled her forehead. "What of you? Will you be returning to your homeworld to work on the cure?"

For the first time in their month-long journey, Janeway saw a profound sadness blossom across the woman's dark features.

"No, the mistress of karma has taken her due. I will not see my home again, except perhaps to die there." She turned her hands over. "The ability to shift our skin color is as intrinsic to our communication as your facial expressions are to yours. This side effect is the equivalent, I have determined, of a human being severely disfigured. My close kin can tolerate it, but most others will not. It is far too disturbing."

Janeway felt a rush of pity. "What then?"

"I can become a hatcher. After all, the eggs don't care what I look like and I can guarantee a strong science lineage. And I can still direct research through a data link." She snorted and stood, her rustling garments falling softly around her tall body. "But it's most likely that I will try to broker peace with our future-kind. They have less need for shifting skin. In fact, it might calm them to have someone so unlike their scientists within their people. Or perhaps I will find a traveler's vessel and try to bring more of our allies to our side." She gave a bitter laugh and clasped her long fingers in front of her.

For a few moments, she continued to contemplate the asteroid base. "I have all these options, captain, but none of them are what I truly want."

Janeway had no response. The terrible sadness in the room was not something she could console, though she had the same sense of loss hanging in her heart. It was the fear of never seeing her own home on Earth and, though she never wanted to admit it, it was now the loneliness that enveloped her ever more keenly now that she had rejected Mileena's overture.

Jelay turned back towards the captain and extended a hand. Janeway took it and was surprised when a firm, cool grip held her in place.

"Captain, we are equals, both mentally and physically. It is perhaps why we clashed so intensely. It is rare that I find someone who can test my limits."

Janeway nodded in agreement. "Likewise, Jelay."

"So take my words as they are meant. You have the same strength as I do. I can divide my work and my personal life with a scalpel's precision. My first mate was my mentor, my second was my subordinate. Zenmay is my only remaining child. She receives no more or less of my attention." She squeezed the captain's hand tighter, but not enough to cause pain. It was just enough to keep the captain from breaking the contact in anger.

"You have the beginning of something wonderful and deep with Mileena. I have turned down her request to stay with us mainly because I know you both can be happier beyond measure if she stays. But that only happens if you trust your strength."

Jelay dropped the captain's hands. Janeway didn't know what emotion to set forth first. Anger at the woman's presumption. Embarrassment that Mileena had spoken of their most recent interaction. Betrayal at her crewmember's attempt to leave her crew. Longing for the truth that Jelay had spoken. None seemed adequate, but the Erato was already taking her leave.

"Thank you again, captain. For everything."

She walked out, leaving the captain alone with her deep and conflicted thoughts.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Epilogue:

Janeway lay in a pile of rumpled sheets both too cool and too warm for her to sleep. She'd not found a comfortable position on any pillow, even when she took the desperate step of lying out on the couch. She punched the soft surface into a different shape, sighed, and rolled over again.

_It's not the bed, is it Kathryn? It's what...or who...isn't in it with you._

Janeway stared at her ceiling, listening to the hum of the warp engines and the tiny sounds that were the relays in the walls. She half wished that she could go back to listening to the ensign's logs as she fell asleep, but now it felt like a coarse act of voyeurism rather than lighthearted, somewhat furtive, enjoyment.

The captain got up, wrapped herself in a robe, and wandered to her computer. However, she didn't turn it on. Instead, she pressed her hand against the surface of her desk and closed her eyes. Somewhere around her consoles, a thin packet of bioneural gel sent messages to and from proteomics; perhaps to Mileena herself in the unlikely event she'd gotten permission from Seven of Nine to work all night. This was all the connection that Janeway would allow herself to the lovely half-Trill who had utterly captured the captain's heart.

Even worse, Janeway knew she could deepen it. She could page Mileena, tell her that she'd reconsidered, and the woman would appear at her door. Janeway would apologize and watch those deep-set amber eyes give her a passionate, soul-piercing stare as she was swept up into another kiss. That wasn't possible, though. There was no way the captain of a vessel could allow herself the luxury of affection.

Janeway sat at her empty screen, her hands pressing futilely into the wooden veneer beneath the computer. She remembered what Jelay had said to her, not in her ready room, but on the asteroid base when they had believed that Mileena was dead. She remembered the nameless crack of grief in her command facade as the Head Scientist spoke in that moment of quiet agony.

_Say the words you couldn't say to her. Give yourself that gift._

"Mileena, I want you. I need you. Please, come be with me," she whispered to the darkness.

For a moment, she though the computer panels whirred a little louder and her pulse quickened. But it was just her imagination. Mileena couldn't hear her, no matter how much the captain wished otherwise. The captain was, and would be, alone.


	4. Chapter 4

It was never a good sign when Janeway could hear the music from halfway down the hall that led to the holodeck. The rumbling bass rattled the panels and vibrated the bulkheads enough that she directed a wry look with Chakotay.

"Should I cancel the party so we can check the whole hull for sonic-induced microfractures," she asked.

"Not unless you want a mutiny on your hands, Kathryn," he said, with rousingly false deference.

She appraised him with a friendly eye. He'd exchanged his usual red command uniform for blue jeans and button-down black shirt that, she had to admit, set off his rugged features in an appealing way. His dark hair was a little rumpled, which only added to the charm, and the glint in his brown eyes was playful and enticing. She was in a light linen suit with a blue top and white flats that, Chakotay assured her with a relatively well-concealed leer, would be completely acceptable for their destination. She could easily make a play for him, she decided, to ease the ache that somehow lingered in her heart after an empty month.

The thudding drums led them to the door of holodeck 2, which whirred open to reveal a grimy city street, complete with slime-filled gutters, obscene graffiti, and a few simulated homeless who rattled a can for change and muttered swears at the pair as the officers came inside. Cars were triple-parked along the trash-strewn sidewalk as another few vehicles weaved their ways down the glistening avenue. A thin sheen of sticky mist clung to the air, causing the dimly-buzzing streetlights to shine their orange-yellow beams into a diffuse cloud of light.

A few steps further in, a Klingon clad in tight black leather growled menacingly at them, a ritual dagger in a sheath on one gigantic thigh and a disrupter holstered on the other. Janeway could make out a nondescript door behind his massive frame, which vibrated in sync with the music from beyond. She glanced upwards towards an old-style marquee ringed with, where they weren't broken, blinking blue and white lights. Emblazoned in twisting neon tubes were the words, "Club Liberation."

"Well, this must be it," said Janeway, taking a step forward. "Not much to look at."

Chakotay's grin broadened to show his perfect white teeth. "Kathryn, let's just say that looks can be deceiving."

They approached the glowering bouncer, neatly sidestepping the velvet-clad ropes that separated a straining, holographic mob from the front door of the club. Janeway appraised the line, which was filled with aliens from every Federation world and quite a number beyond. Scantily-clad women in straining corsets and miniscule skirts flirted and catcalled Chakotay...and to a lesser extent, Janeway, while men in glossy pants and suits made their presence known to both crew members in much the same manner.

A thick brown palm interposed itself between the two officers. "Halt. VIPs only. Everyone else gets to the back of the line." He jutted an enormous thumb towards the snaking mob of people, some of whom jeered at the bouncer's intervention.

Chakotay produced a pair of tickets out of his pocket and passed them forward. "I hope these are satisfactory, Kableth," he said with a charming smile.

The Klingon peered over the tiny stubs with an appraising eye, taking a penlight-scanner out from his pocket and running it over the paper. He nodded, tore them in half, and produced a rubber object from another pocket.

"Put out your hand," he commanded. Both did and he pressed a transparent layer of fluid onto the back of both Janeway's and Chakotay's hands, explaining the rules as he went along. "Single admittance. You get thrown out, you're not getting back in. Legal intoxicants only. No bribing the serving staff for anything." He pulled back his lips and snarled. "And if you start even a hint of trouble, you'll find yourself on the street so fast that your ass will hit warp 6."

With that, he stepped aside and swung open the door, oblivious to the wads of cash being waved at the entering duo from patrons hoping to jump the line. Janeway and Chakotay walked into the club as the Klingon shouted curses at the line of people who surged forward to overtake him. A few disrupter blasts echoed behind the now-closing door, followed by the shrieking of terrified patrons.

Janeway raised her eyebrows at Chakotay in the narrow hall. "This is certainly different from Fairhaven or the beachside resort."

"The ambiance is only going to get weirder," he reassured her. She rose to the challenge and grinned back.

"Well then, lead on."

They stood in a cubicle of a hallway lit by a single dangling bare bulb. The walls were plastered with garish posters advertising bands from five centuries of musicians on thirty different planets, from Romulan rock to delicate Betazoid folk. She looked ahead at a broad black door studded with metal spheres. There was no obvious handle or hinge; instead, a small rectangular slat was set into the door, suggesting that a second doorman would have to provide their means of entrance. She took a step forward, but Chakotay took her arm.

"Not in there. Up here." She turned a few degrees and saw a thin set of wooden stairs, barely a person wide, that had long since lost their battle with gravity. They sagged under the weight of the officers as the two bounded carefully upstairs, tiny flecks of paint flaking off with every step. And while Janeway wasn't afraid of heights, she was conscious that there was nothing to grab onto, other than obscene pictures and paint spatters, should she slip. At the top was yet another door that was a riot of graffiti, slogans, and signatures. With an ever-broadening smile, Chakotay pushed it open.

To Janeway's relief, the next area was comparatively pleasant. It was slightly brighter, though it was illuminated by a greenish fluorescent bulb that cast the two in mildly sickening hues. Along the walls were grimy, fingerprint-streaked mirrors that warped just enough to make Chakotay look a few kilograms larger and Janeway a few centimeters shorter. Beneath them, a few wrought-iron chairs with shabby velvet upholstery and a divan with permanent seat marks gave the impression of a parlor that had seen far too many visitors of dubious intent. The antiqued wooden dresser with a cracked glass top bore two identical lamps with beaded and dusty shades. Each featured a single working bulb that cast shadows on the peeling paint of their base: couples copulating in two different, equally risqué, positions. Two wilting plants, riotous but faded wallpaper, and a battered wooden clock stuck at 5:35 finished off the decor.

Most surprising, though, was the grinning form of Neelix standing in front of a relatively nondescript black door with a single metal handle. His usually-colorful garb had been switched to one of red and black, topped with a jaunty fedora out of which jutted no fewer than ten blue and orange feathers. He was flanked by two more bouncers, one Grizzela and one Cardassian, but they paid the pair no mind as the diminutive Talaxian walked forward, rubbing his hands in glee.

"Oh Captain, Commander. I am so glad you could make it. I hope you didn't have too much trouble at the door." He gave a conspiratorial wink.

"The tickets worked perfectly, Neelix," replied Chakotay. "And we got our stamps."

"Right," cried Neelix, gesturing to one of the bouncers, who handed him a small tricorder-sized device. With the press of a button, a purple black light emitted from the edge and illuminated the ink on the back of his guests' hands. They peered down. Both had a crude picture of Voyager and an obscenity regarding fornication inked onto their skin. Janeway rolled her eyes at both of the men, who took this moment to share a completely immature chuckle.

"So what's in there, Neelix? To be honest, I feel like I should have my phaser out and credits tucked in a secret pocket while avoiding riff-raff," said Janeway, looking around. Even though they were in the anteroom, Janeway had to admit that the holoprogram was exceptionally crafted. Unlike some, which felt forced or too clean, everything she'd encountered seemed brilliantly authentic, down to the musty smell of stale cigarettes wafting up from the threadbare carpet.

His proud yellow crest bobbed up and down as he nearly bounced with excitement. "It's an amazing program called a dis-ko-tek. Apparently, it's based off of a collection of Earth, Trill, Klingon, and Risian nightclubs from your 20th and 21st centuries. We never had anything like this on Talaxia, but when Alice and Pablo showed me the basic holodeck setting, I just knew it would be perfect for their celebration."

"Their celebration," said Janeway, with an eyebrow cocked at her abashed first officer. "I thought this was just Alice's birthday."

"Oh no, Captain," Neelix corrected. "This is a 'thank goodness we have our holodeck privileges back' party! You two are the guests of honor." He leaned in, making sure the bouncers couldn't hear him. "Pablo said they were all expecting thirty days in the brig. This is the least they can do to thank you."

Janeway covered her face with her palm and rubbed her temples. Of course it was. Of course this was why everyone insisted she be here. Of course this was the best way for the cadre of reprimanded ensigns and lieutenants to celebrate their returned leisure time. Club Liberation indeed.

"Come on, Kathryn, it'll be fun." Chakotay's tone was more grounded and thoughtful. "It's been a hard month for all of us. Let's take a little while to lose our troubles."

"Fine, Chakotay," she said, warning him with a smooth white finger that took a yellow hue in the light. "But if any of them lose privileges again, I'm deleting this program." He gave a deferential nod with only a hint of sarcasm.

"Of course, Captain."

"Excellent," said Neelix. "Food is in a buffet along the wall, bartenders are programmed to make the most delicious, knock-your-pips-off cocktails, and the dancing will be second-to-none. But, you'll want to take these."

Neelix, poking the other bouncer, handed two sets of earbuds to Janeway and Chakotay. The Commander popped his in immediately while Janeway turned hers over in her palm.

"They're specially designed noise-cancelling transmitters. You can adjust the volume of the music or turn it off completely, letting you hear just conversations. I prefer 50% myself," he said, pointing to the polymer devices nestled in his oversized ears.

"Well, here goes," said Janeway, fitting them snugly into her ears and following Neelix through the door, which he opened with a grand flourish.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Janeway wasn't sure what she was expecting when she walked in, but the morass of bodies wasn't even on her mental scanners. Unlike the worn exterior, the entirety of the club was gleaming metal, flashing diodes, and spinning glass. Whirling spotlights and flashing strobes cast a rainbow of shadows and tints over a dance floor so packed that Janeway couldn't see more than a few feet in before the throng of undulating bodies blocked her view. She looked up and marveled at the expansive architecture. Tiers of silver-hued scaffolding packed with dancers climbed the walls to dizzying heights and, as she watched, moved slowly across the ceiling so that dancers could change platforms and partners. Tubes of rushing fluid, bolts of electricity, jets of luminescent smoke, and tangled wiring dangled from the walls and ceiling. Janeway was reminded, somewhat disconcertingly, of the interior of a Borg sphere, except teeming with vibrant and joyous life.

She stood there for a good minute, taking in the overwhelming sensations, before she noticed that she was growing uncomfortably warm and beginning to perspire. As if anticipating, Neelix tugged at her jacket and brought it over to a dim box that served as the coat check, then signaled a bodice-clad waitress to their sides.

"Ice water, madam," he said with a flourish, then turned to the Captain. "It is a special occasion. Would you like the night's concoction?"

"Sure, I'll take a chance," she said. "Just remember I have to be on duty at 0700 hours."

"One Freedom's Peril for our Captain, and make it quick." The hologram bobbed her head and disappeared into the crowd.

She noticed that Chakotay had disappeared, but shortly thereafter, the sweating form of Tom Paris materialized beside her. His sopping-wet white shirt was open to mid-chest, revealing his well-defined torso and a set of ridiculously gaudy gold chains. One hand held a tumbler of orange liquid, while the other was used to gesticulate wildly.

"Isn't it amazing, Captain? Not only does the decor change every hour, it's been programmed to feature random dancers from the holodeck program shuffled in and out between songs. The DJs take requests and, if you don't like what's playing, will pipe a different song into your transmitter. More than that, the program actually has holographic representations of crewmembers, willing only," he said with slightly tipsy reassurance, "interspersed inside. At any time, we don't actually know who's here, except for the hand stamps."

"Really," said Janeway curiously. "Do I want to know the purpose of that?"

A young woman had approached the pair and Janeway felt her heart stir just a few beats faster. It was, however, Alice Soohoo, and not the tall slim figure that Janeway desperately wanted to see. The Asian woman too was drenched in sweat and clad in a green and purple robe that clung attractively to her small body. She bowed to both of her superior officers.

"With permission, Captain," she stated tipsily. A slight Korean accent emerged from her liquor-infused voice. Janeway nodded. "On a ship this small, it's hard to have a chance to let go, even in private; the walls are so thin." The two listeners nodded sympathetically. "But here you can be whatever you want to whomever you want. Exercise a fantasy or a reality. When you dance with someone, you can't be perfectly clear if he's real or a hologram. It brings clarity and freedom."

Janeway seemed a little dubious. This was the sort of thing that could be accomplished with private holodeck time. On the other hand, the allure of dancing in this dense setting was the anonymity and the raw physicality. She glanced through the crowd and saw Chakotay paired with a dark-haired woman whom, Janeway realized, she couldn't recognize as a crew member or a hologram from this distance. His grin gave no indication other than his enjoyment of the sensations his partner was bringing him. Janeway shivered, in spite of the heat. It was incredibly tempting to wade onto the dance floor and lose herself among the crowd.

A cup of ice-water appeared in her hand, which she gulped down gratefully as Paris and Soohoo continued to chat with her about the technical and philosophical aspects of the program. A thin glass of an orange liquid was handed over next by the buxom waitress, who fondly kissed both Paris and Soohoo on her way back to the bar. While Soohoo teased Paris about his marital status, Janeway contemplated her drink. Small spheres of blue drifted up and down the semi-viscous liquid. She tilted it and brought it to her mouth, but was baffled when the balls solidified into a soft, impenetrable cap. She raised her eyebrow at it and leveled the glass again, watching the balls go back into the solution, then harden again as she tried to take a sip. Paris smirked, but made no effort to help. A moment later, B'Elanna was beside him and dragging him onto the dance floor while Soohoo took her leave and went to the bustling bar on the side.

As Janeway peered at her glass in consternation, British-accented male voice broke over the crowd.

"This is DJ Roger Wilco spinning the latest hits from 21st century Earth. We'd like to welcome our beloved captain and commander to Club Liberation. We hope they enjoy their stay and, more importantly, help keep us out of trouble. This next song is just for them."

Janeway watched a sea of faces turn towards her and, to her reluctant amusement, salute in a single wave before returning to dancing. Well, at least she wouldn't dampen their fun. The music roared into screaming overdrive and Janeway tapped her transmitter down a few more percentage points. The lyrics were completely incomprehensible, so she pretended that they were flattering.

Then, she sighed and fidgeted with her drink. As beverages went, this was certainly the most unusual she'd ever encountered. She held it up to eye level and looked through for a hint as to its composition. Through the refracted glossy liquid and the orange tint it provided, she caught a glimpse of Mileena.

The half-Trill was on an upper platform, pressed between what looked to be a Bajoran female and the muscled form of Pablo Baytart. Mileena wore an electric-red sleeveless top that did little to hide her firm cleavage or lightly rounded stomach. Her skirt was equally daring, a white skintight fabric that had ridden up almost past her thighs as she undulated seductively against her partners. Her hair cascaded down her back in sweaty ringlets and her skull connectors flashed red and blue in time with the music. The scientist had thrown one hand around Baytart's neck and the other around the pale shoulders of the Bajoran. The darker woman's sinuous, rhythmic dancing gave the deliberate impression of making passionate, public love to her equally ecstatic partners. While Janeway thought that such an act was improbable, Mileena's arched back, closed eyes, and rapturous expression gave little evidence to the contrary.

Janeway found herself suddenly drenched in perspiration and as hot as an overtaxed plasma conduit. A drink. She needed a drink. Fruitlessly, she tried to liquefy her beverage and watched it congeal once again into a jiggling lump. In desperation, she flagged down a waitress, who managed to get her another glass of cold water. She drank half and put the remainder on the back of her neck to cool down her searing body temperature.

God, if she only had the nerve, she could insinuate herself between Mileena and Baytart. She could feel the half-Trill's winding body grinding insistently against her own in a delightful mimicry of the embrace they would later enjoy in private. All Janeway needed to do was let go of her self-imposed restriction and she could have every centimeter of that lovely woman against her skin and her bed. No one would notice and no one would care. Hell, it could be the Janeway hologram, if she let such a thing happen.

Then, jealousy raised its head. Pablo had leaned low and was brushing his handsome dark features against Mileena's equally dark skin, causing her to press closer to him and encircle both arms around his body as the Bajoran drifted away with a lingering touch. Janeway's jaw clenched involuntarily.

"Well, she certainly moved on quickly," said Janeway to nobody in particular. The coat check hologram nodded sympathetically, but said nothing otherwise. Apparently, the ardor that Mileena had demonstrated to the auburn-haired captain was only in passing.

Then, sheepishly, Janeway watched the two of them touch foreheads briefly and embrace in a way that was quite unlike two lovers. This was confirmed by Ensign Powell breaking in, administering a deep kiss to Pablo, as well as a quick kiss to Mileena's forehead, before wrapping herself around her new dance partner. Ensign Soohoo appeared behind him, at which point Janeway pulled her gaze away. She was many things, but a voyeur of her lower crewmembers' intimate moments was not among them. Hell, for all she knew, this was just a random show among an assortment of holograms, though her gut told her that everybody on that platform was real.

Most terrifyingly, she worried that should she keep watching, she'd finally lose control and throw herself into Mileena's arms. Janeway took this opportunity to locate a door and slide out onto the veranda. She needed to cool down.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

One of the difficulties of operating the bioneural interface was that it distorted all sense of time. After connecting to the apparatus, Mileena was adrift within the circuitry, which meant that she was processing information at a speed different from her own internal chronometer. Hours and minutes flipped their meanings; more often than not, she was brought unexpectedly back into full consciousness after swearing that she'd only just begun. It meant she couldn't tell how long she'd spent on a problem and whether her thought processes were efficient. It was still a work in progress.

Today, however, the timelessness of her interface made her completely oblivious to what was otherwise an excruciatingly boring task. Ever since the final battle with the Bakloth, Lieutenant Torres had been more willing to let Mileena interact with bioneural gel outside of just the supercomputer and console, albeit with a strict monitoring system and a manual break order. As a result, Mileena and Engineering had spent a few hours each day painstakingly pruning and strengthening the connections in each bag of gel throughout the ship. At a cellular level, Mileena was directing axons to grow and others to die while monitoring the feedback alongside the gold-suited crewmen near the warp drive. There were, according to Mileena's knowledge, 2,461 individual bags scattered around the ship. It would take her years to streamline all of them, so they were working on the gel attached to propulsion and weapons. Of course.

The task itself didn't take that much concentration, Mileena found, especially since its maximum speed was ultimately limited by the biological mechanisms themselves. She could start the process and check cell growth every few mental cycles. In the meantime, she puzzled through assorted data that exobiology had left in the supercomputer or complex analyses of patterns that Harry had found via the long range scanners. Even those weren't enough to truly engage her, so she went back to rebuilding the advanced indirect cortical connection that would sadly replace the implants she had now.

She and Seven had gotten remarkably far considering their short working time. It was going to be based on the cortical implant that Mileena currently had, but it could sit on top of the skull instead of inside. The external relay was completed, but the Borg and half-Trill had been struggling on how to shield the transmitter from external stimuli while still retaining good connectivity between brain and machine. There were a handful of prototypes, none of them completely functional, but it was enough to start testing. However, Mileena wasn't content. She had begun folding assorted contact proteins that would allow optimal signal transfer across bone when she was interrupted on some level.

"Ensign, the power flow through gel pack 2500 is 13% under normal." Torres' voice over the comm channel to proteomics was a jagged yellow and orange, reflecting the ship's decidedly love-hate relationship with its chief engineer. Mileena had learned to find it amusing. "Can you compensate?"

Mileena took a bit of her consciousness and flickered it back down to main engineering. Well of course the bag was operating below normal, the ship indicated in its disjointed sensory pattern. Just look at that mess.

"Power. Coupling 12-G. One deck away. There's. A 1.65% plasma. Leak. Bag has dropped. In response," said Mileena, forcing the words through her gritted teeth. Another one of the projects was how to let her communicate more smoothly, either through digital or analog means, when jacked into the machine. Otherwise, the conversations were essentially unidirectional.

"On it," noted Torres. "Okay, can you...wait, no you can't. We'll continue this tomorrow. Thank you, Ensign."

Mileena was puzzled, but she heard CRE's voice both inside and outside of her body intoning smoothly, "Daily duration of 10 hours reached. Beginning reemergence process." Defeated, she slumped against the heavy chair and waited the ten increasingly-boring minutes for the probes to retract and the computer to stop trying to communicate with her implants.

Blinking twice, she unfastened herself from the seat and woozily made her way over to a neatly-arranged row of equipment. She dunked her arms into an empty silver basin and hit a pedal with her toe. A torrent of bluish antiseptic and astringent poured out of a nearby tap, filling the bowl and submerging all of her implants. She wiggled her fingers and flexed her arm muscles a few times, then used her cranial implant to activate each implant briefly. A few thin ribbons of blood flowed from the edges of the hardware and she frowned. That same implant on her left hand was misbehaving, almost to the point that she might want to have it removed to keep it from interfering with the others.

Withdrawing her hands, she put them down on a bare metal plate and hit another foot pedal. A second metal rectangle came down and enclosed her arms. Purple light streamed out from the gap between the plates as the sterilizer/warmer finished its job. Finally, she brought herself over to the tray full of almond-colored plugs to block the implants and slumped. The palm coverings were a necessary evil; otherwise, she'd end up snagged on everything from her equipment to her own bra. The arm plugs, however, were merely cosmetic. Mileena's arm contacts sat closer to her skin and rarely caught on anything. Unlike the palm implants, they had a tiny aperture that easily shut out liquids or contaminants. She could dunk herself in a bath and they wouldn't leak water into her arms. Plus, the contacts were beautiful. They felt more like jewelry and emblems of courage than mere functional hardware.

However, Mileena had noticed that the crew reacted poorly to her modifications. Their curiosity rapidly gave way to disgust and distrust. After all, the crew's only experience with technologically-modified humans had been in their fights with the Borg and, more recently, their interactions with the standoffish Seven of Nine. There'd been whispers about this being some sort of modification that the whole crew might be forced to adopt; after all, Borg technology was forbidden. But this was conceived of and executed by human hands, more or less. Mileena was developing something, wasn't she? To make them all better?

Two dozen demos of the external interface later, the gossip had died down. That had done little to stifle the sideways glances at the implants when she didn't cap them in public. And since her next destination was the mess hall at the swapping of shifts, she'd encounter a lot of people who just didn't want to be upset any more than necessary. With a sigh, she tapped the remainder of the plugs into place, smoothed them down so they were almost seamless with her skin, and breezed out of proteomics.

Predictably, the mess hall was utter chaos. She managed to muscle through for a plate of scattered grains and synthetic protein, then tucked herself into the corner near a group of security staff who were busily coordinating their evening schedules. Each would have to do two hours of rounds, but the shifts meant that everyone would have a chance to stop in at the holodeck celebration that night. Mileena overheard their chatter and gave a small internal grin.

Nominally, this was Alice's birthday party. The young woman had swung around the corner of 25 just a few days before, but their collective restriction from leisure activities meant that the party was unacceptably subdued. Reaching a quarter century, Mileena believed, deserved far more than a small cake and a group of lower deck crewmen getting drunk off their limited rations.

More than just that, it was a celebration of their finishing their punishments and a blessed relief from the bi-weekly flybys of hostile drones that had peppered Voyager since they left the Erato systems. No one in her circle knew about the battle reports, save that there were unknown attackers striking at random before being vaporized by Voyager's clearly-superior firepower. Rumor was that these were a scouting party, but for whom or what was unknown. It had left the entire crew drained and shaken. Never knowing when the next attack would occur and being on constant alert had made everyone tired and on-edge. A party would fix some of that, she'd decided.

The tufted head of Neelix poked itself into her distracted visual field. She gave him a genuine smile and pointed to the already-stuffed bench next to her. He sat down in his grease-spattered apron, stole a sprig of yellow stem, and crunched it loudly.

"We're almost ready for tonight," he said triumphantly. "And I have to tell you again how much fun I've been having. The program is an absolute delight and challenge to work with. The AIs are rather sophisticated and often opinionated." He pounded the table with mock sternness. "Why, I had to set the bartender straight and teach her the difference between a traditional Klingon cocktail and a cheap Romulan knockoff."

Mileena snickered and leaned on him a little. He patted her head. "It's almost done, ensign. Then, you'll be able to relax and enjoy yourself."

She exhaled and slumped. "Neelix, I can't thank you enough for volunteering to be part of this. How can we ever repay you?"

It had been ridiculously difficult to organize a holodeck party when none of them were allowed in the holodeck. Alice had finally approached Neelix with her idea, given the curious Talaxian the full codes to her dance club holoprogram, and set him loose. Four hours later, in the middle of gamma shift, an inebriated and sweat-soaked Talaxian appeared at her door and shook her bewildered hand. He'd make all the arrangements, plan out the food, and administer the drinks. According to Alice, he'd even added a lush garden veranda for those who tired of the frenetic pace. However, the specifics of that modification were kept more or less private. Mileena's personal favorite touch were the exclusive VIP tickets that could only be bartered for or that mysteriously appeared in someone's quarters in a silvery envelope.

He took on a thoughtful gaze. "Well, for starters, keep yourself out of this sort of trouble." His finger wagging had more force behind it than might otherwise be expected from the often-jovial Talaxian. "I also want you to keep up on your meditating for reasons we both know. Now, though, I want you to finish your food, get ready, and look forward to tonight." His eyes went back to twinkling. "I think you'll enjoy all the surprises I've put in."

He drifted away as she scarfed down her meal, checked the chronometer, and made her way to astrometrics. Her supervisor, the towering Seven of Nine, did not look up from her charts as the half-Trill approached.

"You are late," observed Seven of Nine. A few mockups of the scout ships whirled around the expansive, curved screen that coated most of astrometrics. Simulated trajectories to nearby planets flashed by in a dizzying array of possibilities that blended together into waving bands of colored light. Mileena blinked and tilted her head. It was difficult to look at without the Borg-enhanced optical responses or her own computer connection.

"I was eating." Mileena paused. "And planning tonight's party."

"I received the invitation," replied the Borg without inflection. "It was neatly folded on my alcove. I almost recycled it before I noticed my name in silver script." Was that hint of pleasure? "It was aesthetically pleasing enough for me to reconsider my actions."

"So you will attend, Seven," said Mileena.

"I will," she stated. "I am curious to see the nature of this location. My records indicate that there will be a wide variety of humanoid courtship rituals present. I wish to observe them to further my exploration."

"Ah," said Mileena. Her thoughts flew as quickly as the projections before her. With whom was Seven trying to mate? What courtship rituals did she think she'd see? Could Mileena somehow make herself part of them? After all, Mileena desperately wanted the mental distraction. Her mind circled the uncomfortable topic of her non-existent relationship and instead headed towards the work they'd been completing together.

"Have you looked at the most recent iteration of the external cortical transponder? I left it for you a few hours ago." said the ensign hopefully. "This one has over two percent more responsiveness to the user's commands. Pablo did a quick demo and he said that it was much smoother."

"You will refrain from conducting field testing without my specific permission," said the Borg. She angled her tall, curvaceous body towards Mileena. "Your anxiousness to continue is illogical. We still have five months to go before your implants are removed."

"I'm thinking ahead," argued Mileena carefully, reconfiguring her attitude into cleanly scientific insubordination. "If this area is as hostile as it seems, most of our time will be spent protecting Voyager. If the prototypes are functional, that means better efficacy for all personnel involved."

"True," mused the Borg. "But you still must wait for me to allow you to act. That is my duty as your supervisor." The final word was said with that same hint of pleasure. Mileena guessed that Seven enjoyed being officially in charge of someone and having that amount of power, even if it only meant keeping Mileena to her schedule and handling ever-more-boring daily reports.

Seven of Nine walked over to a work station and pulled out a slim metal container. Mileena followed and attempted to peer around the young woman's lanky frame. The Borg's optical implant cocked up and Mileena backed off a few centimeters. With a flick of a switch, the lid slid open, revealing a pair of implants that resembled Mileena's own.

The astrometrics officer ran her mechanically-enhanced senses over the tiny devices. They were thicker than Mileena's and a fair bit larger to compensate for their external placement. She'd designed this set to be more Starfleet in appearance, with red and yellow diodes and tightly-wound, but visible, wiring. She guessed that the average user would want to feel like he was merely interacting with a piece of equipment more akin to a tricorder than a neural stimulator.

Seven had taken to running a probe over the transmitters and was recording the resulting data into her padd. Then, she set the connectors back into their carrying case and turned to the guardedly hopeful ensign.

"These are sufficient for testing purposes," she concurred. "I will alert Commander Chakotay and Lieutenant Torres that they may come tomorrow for further training on the console."

Mileena swallowed her apprehension and her glee. The two senior officers had been surprisingly interested in working with the new technology, especially given Chakotay's earlier experiences with the disconnected Borg. Each had participated in a few training sessions with just the bioneural console, then the bioneural console with the crude transmitter speaking with their brains. Ensign Kim and Lieutenant Paris had been even more excited in participating, enough so that Paris had offered to try the direct connection to the navigational gel padd. Baytart had managed to talk him out of it, but it was gratifying nonetheless for her superiors to finally be noticing her. Well, everyone except for the one person she wanted most to do just that.

"Have the other senior staff been notified about our progress," she inquired with a false steadiness in her voice.

"They will be, though I am unsure when they can come to proteomics for testing. I will urge them to do so."

Lieutenants Tuvok and Paris had also been introduced to the hardware, though neither had spent much time on the console. Tuvok was reticent, while Paris was fascinated but completely consumed by working on the shuttlecraft. He and Pablo were spending almost every non-bridge moment completely refitting the _Venture_ to be a primarily bioneural machine. They'd reached some sort of agreement about the piloting arrangement that didn't leave Pablo on Voyager while Paris had all the fun. Apparently, Lieutenant Paris wasn't as self-centered and oblivious as she'd thought.

And the Captain, well, she'd been carefully avoiding proteomics as much as possible, which Mileena appreciated and deeply regretted.

"May I continue testing with Ensigns Baytart, Soohoo, and Powell? They are the most familiar with this technology."

"They are less important to the ship's functioning than their superiors. You should put your effort into training the bridge crew instead." She must have heard Mileena's heart thud a few beats faster. "However, you may continue with them when it does not interfere with your primary goals."

"Thank you, Seven," said Mileena, expertly suppressing all external signs of her ire with the Borg.

Her commanding officer was just being honest. All ensigns were not just less important. They were, according to the below-decks sentiment, absolutely disposable. It didn't matter that Lauren could do a narrow-beam teleport through a multiphasic shield better than Harry Kim or that Alice's skill in exobiology was nearly equal to that of Chakotay; they'd be immobile in duty and prestige for the rest of their time in the delta quadrant. Mileena herself knew that once Seven of Nine had a handle on the bioneural equipment, the half-Trill would be back to manipulating protein transcription in her quiet little lab, far away from the system she had so lovingly created.

"I have offended you," observed the Borg. "Am I incorrect in noting their subordinate position?"

"You are correct." Mileena mirrored the tone of the Borg.

"But you are bothered nonetheless. Explain." Her blue eyes were cool and inquisitive at the same time.

Mileena gathered a few more thoughts before speaking. "Most humanoids prefer to constantly advance in skill and position. In the alpha quadrant, all three would be lieutenants on other starships. This would show evidence of their progression and growth. On Voyager, they're fixed as ensigns; no matter how good they are, they're always going to be second best. Being reminded of this is painful."

"In the Collective, all drones were equal. The drone who performed maintenance on plasma conduits for two decades was no more or less than the drone who had been newly assimilated. This focus on hierarchy can be inefficient if it effects the functioning of the crew." The Borg peered down at Mileena. "But you are not in Starfleet and you have no replacement. This should not affect you."

"My being irreplaceable is due only to the deaths of my labmates, which is not a satisfying way of achieving a goal." Not in a small amount, murmured Mileena to herself, because of the pain their deaths brought and her satisfaction at being a member, and not a leader, of that group. "And once the crew is fully trained on the new bioneural interface, I will no longer be required. You would be able to perform my duties more quickly."

"That is illogical," stated Seven, "My duties in astrometrics are more important than yours in proteomics. It is better for you to retain your position so I can aid the ship." The Borg took on a look of muted mortification. "I believe that was offensive."

Mileena took the emotional punch as easily as she'd taken physical ones, barely acknowledging just how much it hurt while privately and mentally screaming. "It was correct," she stated, then changed the topic. "I should take the transmitters and begin the replication process. Each will require several extra hours of testing."

"Very well. You are dismissed. I shall see you tonight," stated Seven. Mileena then received her first real surprise of the day. "And ensign, I apologize for the meaning of my comment." The Borg paused. "You are required for the functioning of this ship."

As she left for proteomics, Mileena wondered if she should commend the Doctor on teaching Seven to tell a social lie.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Alice Soohoo walked slowly through her nightclub and watched the bustling employees inside dip their heads and whisper, "Good evening, doyenne," as she passed among them. She acknowledged them with an imperial nod and ticked off her list of changes.

She'd adjusted the weather outside to be more grim so it would clash with the explosively vibrant club, then had created a variety of belligerent patrons to test the bouncer's responses. After a few holographic beheadings, she toned down his AI to be more threatening than deadly. She'd shuffled the posters to be even more offensive than usual and added a few insults aimed at the captain and Tuvok in scripts they'd be unable to comprehend. Then, she reconsidered and settled for subtly altering the fornicating lamp bases to have a decidedly Vulcan and human appearance. No sense in getting in more trouble due to a piece of miraculous translation software.

She lined up the DJs and had each run through a sample set. Durhash, the Klingon mixmaster, was probably too heavy for this evening. On the other hand, there were enough angry faces in that crowd that a release of collective rage in the form of raging Klingon synths would be cathartic. She put Durhash third, right before the Bolian close-out. The club cycled through its various settings at her command and she nodded in approval to the simulated maître'd. Then, she climbed a twisting staircase and slipped into a concealed office.

The Korean woman brought the lights up within, sat heavily at her simulated mahogany desk and hit an intercom. "Jaylen, bring me the food samples."

"Of course, doyenne," he replied.

She leaned back in the sumptuous black-leather chair and contemplated the glinting crystal of the opulent chandelier that, on the best nights, rocked and swayed in time with her body and the music beyond. This should have been her calling, she reflected. Crafting elaborate spaces that rippled with life, both real and imaginary, was more fulfilling than sorting artifacts. She'd decided that before she boarded Voyager, but wanted to finish her commission before exiting Starfleet. Now, she was stranded in the middle of nowhere, doing a job that she, well, she didn't actively hate it, but she wasn't very happy. There were no shortage of data to analyze, and most of it was fascinating, but what the hell was the point if all she'd do was catalog it until the next time they got in touch with the Federation which would be when, exactly?

A shirtless, ebony-skinned male clad only in a pair of white trousers graciously entered her sanctum and set down a gold-embossed tray with an engraved cover. With a flourish, he pulled it away, bowed his beautiful bald head, and waited for her instructions. On other days, she might have a bit of release with his sculpted body and impeccable technique, but with her guests arriving at times uncertain, it was an incorrect course of action.

"Thank you, Jayden," she said demurely. "Dismissed."

He left, snugly fitting the door back into place, and she picked up a brown-crusted fruit tart. An experimental bite confirmed that Neelix had done a phenomenal job with the catering. It had taken most of their journey thus far, but he'd become a master culinary craftsman, which is why Alice was decidedly loathe to share her snack when a familiar voice sang outside.

"Alice darling, let me in so I can show you my outfit."

Ah yes, the reason for their punishment had arrived. Alice tamped down her ire. The girl had done her best to mitigate the fallout and suffered along with them, apologizing almost constantly until they told her to stop. The lanky halfbreed had even gotten rid of the vast majority of her safeguards and taken everyone but their superiors out of the information loop. So, their little group had mostly forgiven her. Mostly.

With a tap of a pearlescent button beneath the desk, the door slid aside and admitted her dark-haired friend. Alice allowed her eyes to widen in amusement.

"Good lord, Mileena. What are you wearing? Or should I say, what aren't you wearing?"

Her friend had exchanged her recent Erato garb for a skintight ensemble that left exactly nothing to the imagination. Mileena chosen to wear a bright red top that barely covered her breasts and in fact served to nearly double them in size. The accompanying white skirt would be more properly considered underwear in most other circumstances. The practical standard black boots were transformed into a pair with almost five centimeters of extra heel, causing the already tall woman to appear nearly on par with her Borg supervisor. Her black hair was twisted into a spiral at her neck and her almond skin was dusted with what appeared to be glitter. It would all be too damn much if it didn't work damn well.

"I take it that it's succeeding. Glad to see I still have it." The half-Trill's amber eyes were afire with amusement as she eased herself demurely into a chair opposite Alice and snagged a pastry puff full of protein substitute.

"I don't know what you had, but yes, you still possess it. It's amazing." Alice leaned forward conspiratorially and ate another one of the food samples, this time a cheese-covered stem. "So, who's the target?"

A cloud drifted across her friend's face, but passed as she said, "Well, apparently Tal Celes has made a few mentions of wanting to try the other side," said Mileena with a patient eye roll. "And wouldn't you know, she and Lauren were hanging out the other day and my apparent preferences were brought to light. Lauren said that Tal was interested, and in more than the abstract sense, so I'm being fixed up."

Alice smiled, but it was more hesitant than it should have been. Pablo had told her, in confidence of course, about Mileena's abortive attempt to seduce him. Someone, he said grimly, had left a bruise on their friend's heart that he was ill-equipped to heal. Predictably, Mileena refused to say who or how; Lauren probably knew, but her blasted pseudo-Klingon honor would keep that secret until she was tortured. Maybe this would make it better.

"Well, I've heard decent things about her. She's pretty attractive for a Bajoran and I know just how much you enjoy deflowering women." Her smile went lecherous and, to her relief, Mileena returned it. "I'll make sure that you two end up on the same platforms. Personally, if required."

"Thank you, doyenne," teased Mileena. Her tone shifted to one of exasperation. "Is it wrong for me to want this so much? I need a release and a damn distraction."

"Nah, it's fine, though you're still up for the light show, right? It'll be the second set. It'll only be an hour, because no one likes Trill music." A piece of fruit sailed past her ear and splattered on the wall. "Hey, that's good food you're wasting."

"Trill music is fine," said Mileena grumpily, crossing her arms. "It's not my fault you have no taste."

"Yes, well, any music that requires a subtonal scale so that an internal parasite can enj-" The buttered bread hit her squarely in the chest. "Oh for crying out loud, Mileena. I like this shirt."

"Pfft, put it in the replicator. Besides, I know you'll be out of your clothing thirty minutes into the show. Consider this a bit of an incentive." Mileena ate the other half of the roll. "I'm good for the show. Let me go do practice run with the Gorna Rey. I need to make sure that the bioneural gel in the holodeck won't be overtaxed by your magnum opus." The woman rose, raised an eyebrow, and sashayed out.

Alice brushed the crumbs off her shirt and glanced at her chronometer. Forty minutes to showtime. Outside, the abominable dance music started up, signaling the test of Mileena's bioneural implants. They'd discovered she could control a small amount of the holodeck circuitry and had suggested that Mileena could be used as a living disco ball. Of course, being banned from the holodeck made practicing impossible, so the bioneural console had served as a demo rig. Alice listened a few minutes more. There was no indication of a malfunction. The party would go as planned.

With luck, everyone's spirits would be raised as high as their passions and their temperatures. She materialized a glass of a strongly-flavored fruit wine and took a draught. It was good to be doyenne.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Janeway shivered a little as she stepped onto the slate tiling outside the club. The veranda was startlingly cool after her immersion in the living furnace beside her. Now, though, she was in a chilly night air that made her long for her jacket. As if on cue, the holographic coat check handed back the garment that had been so hastily discarded when Janeway entered just a little while before. The Captain slipped the coat on, thanked the program, and walked a few steps farther from the dance hall.

The ambiance was different, not merely in location, but also in form. The winding of the ivy through curving black iron, the copious sprinkling of tables and food, and the liberal assortment of leafy plants betrayed their author's true nature. Ensign Soohoo had clearly not designed this portion of the program. Neelix had. His knack was always for settings of comfort, relaxation, and familiarity. The terrace was a little derivative, especially when compared to the chaotic innovation next to it. The simple venue, though, served its purpose as a quiet place for escape. Janeway saw that a few couples had curled themselves into the simplistic cafe-style furniture and were generating a tender heat by their proximity.

A bartender was out here as well, modeled on a Talaxian restaurateur of whom Neelix had spoken fondly. He was slightly taller than Neelix, with hair and spots that had faded with age. His eyes, though, were no less keen as his customer approached and set her drink on the glossy chestnut table.

"My drink is defective," she observed. "I can't seem to get the liquid out of it."

"Well, Captain, I can give you something different if you'd like. Maybe a conventional seabreeze from Earth? A bracing blood wine, perhaps? There's an El-Aurian cocktail that I've been taught to create." He gestured to a veritable bookcase of alcoholic selections. Enough of their bottles were half-full or obviously non-holographic that Janeway suspected they were from the personal supplies of certain crewmen. She perused the alcohol with a practiced eye, then looked down at her enticing beverage.

The orange and blue liquids whirled around each other, with the spheres bobbing in time with the music. Janeway had seen enough people downing the drink to know that it was drinkable. It was unlikely to be an extended practical joke, not if the crewmen all wanted to enjoy their remaining free time. There was some sort of trick, but no one had offered a suggestion. The bartender in front of her, clad in his dark blue shirt and white pants, seemed even less likely to give her a hint as to her folly.

"Just some water, please," she decided. He poured her another glass and she walked to the edge of the veranda, looked up, and gasped with bittersweet recognition.

It was the moon. Not just a moon. THE moon, their beloved Luna, the captivating, luminescent disc that lit the nights of her and her people for thousands of generations. Its artfully rendered face was enough to send a surprising pang of homesickness through her as she walked to the banister, set her drinks down on a glass tabletop, and contemplated the hanging sphere.

When Janeway left Earth, the moon's surface featured multiple intensely-silver clusters that represented the largest colonies, each housing millions of inhabitants. The moon before her bore no such marking. It was the pale white and grey that must have illuminated the nocturnal journeys of earth's creatures long before they had a word for moon or, indeed, had words at all.

She peered at the city beneath the glowing orb. Towering skyscrapers, their empty lit windows like earthbound stars, spread across the horizon. Rivulets of chaotic life expanding across a hundred streets were impossibly visible beneath her, though she knew they had only climbed a single set of stairs to the club. A set of matching buildings, slightly shadowed to the far south, caught her attention and she smiled wistfully. This was late 20th century New York City in all its splendor before a terrorist attack ripped apart the country and brought a century of senseless conflicts. At this moment, though, the city and its inhabitants flourished, heedless to their terrible futures, as all humans had before their individual calamities.

She sat down at the table and drank her water slowly, watching the tumult of dancers through the wide glass doors between her and the club. The goal of her excursion out here was to reduce her temperature and collect her private thoughts. While she was, at least, a comfortable temperature, introspection had been utterly denied to her. Within a few moments of sitting down, she'd been visited by a parade of well-wishers. Neelix, who wanted her opinion on his simulated Earth evening, took a few moments to tell her all about the "Big Fruit" in which they sat. Chakotay had checked on her enjoyment as he toweled himself off with a cloth napkin and gulped down a quantity of a strongly-flavored beer before venturing back inside. Assorted ensigns, including the surprisingly sober Ensign Powell and the visibly drunk Ensign Baytart, made their way over to apologize one last time for their behavior and to thank her for their finished punishment.

Even the Doctor came to her table to report that he'd treated ten cases of heat exhaustion, five cases of dehydration, one state of extreme intoxication, and one broken ankle caused by falling off of a tall shoe. His ire, however, was tempered by his professional pride at being specifically recruited to "work" the party for just this purpose. He hinted that, in return for his medical expertise, Ensign Soohoo had used his designs to flesh out the conversation options for many of the male and female characters. Someone flagged him down: there'd been a minor lover's quarrel between two holograms and now both were nursing simulated bloody noses. With rolled eyes, the Doctor allowed the handsome Klingon hologram to drag him away.

Janeway leaned back on her chair, grateful for both the company and the isolation, and closed her eyes. The music's dull thump would raise to its full volume whenever a door was opened and fall once more whenever it was shut. She manually adjusted the earpiece so that it was always transmitted at a very low volume. Let the kids enjoy their dance music. She preferred a pair of pipes and a fiddle any day.

Now, the veranda was almost silent, save the occasional chatter of clustered crewmen, both real and imaginary. She tried to think and was saved from such a fate by a pair of very familiar voices breezing in behind her and heading for the bar.

"So, it's going well," asked Ensign Powell flirtatiously.

"It's...absolutely freezing out here. Kelton, I need a robe," said Mileena, her voice shaking as she dodged the question. A few chattering seconds later, Janeway heard fabric being dragged across the ensign's lovely body and a response given in a far warmer tone. "It's going fine, Lauren. We've been having fun. She's signaled her interest."

"Well, signal back, for Kahless' sake. Signal like you're trying to dock a ship in your port. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"My signaling apparatus seems to be malfunctioning, Lauren. It appears to be broadcasting only on the frequency that says to get away from me before I dump this glass of water on your head." A sound that resembled someone leaping to the side accompanied a burst of laughter and a swinging door. The voices went silent as the pair passed back into the nightclub.

When Janeway opened her eyes again, the veranda was empty, except for the hologram going about his mechanical barkeeping tasks. She shrugged and went back over to the banister, clasped her hands and leaned her weight onto her forearms with a sigh.

Mileena.

The young woman had been brutally professional ever since their abortive encounter. Meetings that were once between Janeway and the scientist now included Seven, B'Elanna, or any number of other personnel. Janeway's intermittent lunch dates with Ensign Powell, which had previously included Mileena as an infrequent guest, were brought strictly back to pleasant, passing conversation with either woman in the mess hall. She and the scientist might pass in the corridor with a professional nod. The hours that the Captain had previously spent with Mileena in proteomics, going over some piece of the apparatus or practicing on the console, were replaced by a padd full of testing data, administered via Chakotay.

Most embarrassing of all, Mileena had changed the tenor of her duty logs from friendly conversation to a factual report. The older woman somehow knew of Janeway's private enjoyment of listening to the scientist's duty logs and had deliberately carved the heart out of them so as not to confound their emotions. All in the name of professionalism. All because the captain had rejected her. Whatever Mileena had felt had been stripped away and replaced with the sort of respectful distance the captain always thought she'd wanted. The girl was handling it so calmly and cleanly. Immersed in her work, surrounded by friends, and even dating, Mileena was showing all the signs of having moved on in the way that Janeway just...couldn't.

Another interruption. "Captain," said Neelix. The anxious texture of his voice was mirrored by the jerky movements of his thick, yellowed hands. "You've barely budged from out here! And you haven't touched your drink!"

Her reply was cut off by Mileena's smooth tones. "I think, Neelix, that the captain hasn't been properly advised on the best way to handle Freedom's Peril."

Janeway turned around to see the young woman making her wavering way across the slate tiling, her long heels clicking one after the other as they struck the cool grey surface. A fluttering black silk robe, in much the style of Ensign Soohoo's, draped itself from her shoulders and extended down to her knees. The square knot in the belt obscured some of the ensign's bare flesh from Janeway's wishful view, though not enough that Janeway couldn't see the rise of the ensign's breasts from beneath the robe. Her coal-black hair, formerly loose and drenched in sweat, was pinned carefully into a pile on top of her head. And of course, those citrine-colored eyes appraised Janeway as the ensign walked ever closer, her own drink in her hand.

A mischievous smile, far more familiar than was appropriate given their current situation, splayed across the ensign's full lips and high cheekbones.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a food question that someone needs you to resolve. I'll take over in the drink instruction department, if you don't mind."

"Yes, of course," he said, delighted as always. He whirled back into the club, leaving the two women alone. Janeway gripped the banister tightly as she watched Mileena approach. The captain's throat was, once again, absolutely parched. This was a fantasy, some part of Janeway screamed, why aren't you acting on it. A gorgeous woman. A throbbing nightclub. The moon and New York City. Just reach out your hand and take this. The other, sensible and terrified part won out, though, and Janeway reached instead for her frustrating beverage.

"Do you have a user manual for this thing," said Janeway, which was a front for the pleading enticements the rest of her was trying to generate.

"I have a hint," Mileena said, finally reaching the Captain. The woman leaned against the brick wall nearby, giving Janeway another view of the luscious, almond-brown flesh at the base of Mileena's neck. Even from here, the Captain could smell a thin, fruity alcoholic scent wafting from the drink in the Ensign's hand. Had cold professional tone had melted in the moon's heat, or was it the alcohol chipping away the control? Janeway didn't care. She just wanted to be here, with things being normal, whatever that was.

"Freedom's Peril is freedom itself. Imprisoned, you are safe, but you cannot choose your destiny. Free, you are in danger at all times, but your life and its direction are yours to command. You take a chance, you risk the consequences." Mileena smiled. Janeway felt her own, cream-colored skin flush in response. She hid her face in her drink's contemplation.

"Alcohol as a metaphor," replied Janeway. A bit of realization dawned on her as she tilted the liquid back and forth, then brought it to eye level. With a single, violent motion, she tipped it vertically into her mouth.

The fluid should have splashed across her face and drenched her in its orange display of gravity. Instead, the blue spheres hardened into a waxy substance that encased the liquid once again, keeping her dry. Disappointed, she lowered the glass, but the spheres did not reform or drop back into the solution. Instead, they stayed in a solid, arching lid that Mileena reached over and broke off with a quick motion of her long brown fingers. For two seconds, the scientist's body was closer to Janeway than it had been in weeks. Mileena's body radiated heat from her exertions in the dance and the intoxicating scent of mixed perfumes, alcohol, and healthy sweat mingled tantalizingly in the air around the Captain. Janeway leaned in, but Mileena was already throwing the cap off of the veranda and gesturing to Janeway with her own beverage with a smile.

"Well then," the half-Trill said. "Enjoy Freedom's Peril."

Janeway took a drink, finally. The fluid was acidic and sweet, with notes of apple and the warmth of honey, finished off by a surprisingly strong burn. It tasted, she realized, like achieving liberation after a long struggle. She put the glass down on the table and raised her eyebrows.

"It's quite good," she said, breathing out to cool the warmth in her throat. "There's a temperature-sensitive polymer, I take it? Most people start the drink on the veranda, where it's cooler, then drink inside?"

"Correct, captain," said the ensign, that smile never leaving her perfect features.

"Well, I'd say that it was worth the risk. Cheers, then," said Janeway, holding up her glass. The woman obligingly extended her hand and touched her drink to Janeway's with a gentle _tink_.

"To Freedom's Peril, wherever it may lead," said Mileena, but her voice had gone thoughtful, as if noticing the intimacy they were sharing. She had quickly turned her head towards the simulated skyline and retracted her drink close to her flowing form as if it were a security blanket.

"I'd been to Earth a few times as a child to visit mom's family in Nazret. It was always so strange to see just one, far-away moon. I'd ask them if their moon got lonely. They asked if mine were crowded." She laughed, but it was self-conscious now and not backed by easy emotion.

_Dammit,_ Janeway cursed herself. The toast was a ridiculous idea. _Here I am, talking about liberation, when it's my own stupid restrictions that make this so tense._

Janeway sorted through the strings of possible conversations, deciding on, "I spent years staring up at the moon, wondering what it would have been like to be the first woman to land on it, the first human on another world. I always loved the idea of being an explorer. So here I am." She chuckled ruefully. "The ultimate explorer."

Mileena, though, didn't take up the thread. Instead, she kept her vivid yellow eyes on the simulated orb and sipped her drink a few more times, allowing a pregnant silence to tick by slowly. Then, the alcohol must have provided just enough confidence to speak to her Captain, albeit without daring to look at her.

"Thank you for coming, Captain. It means a lot to me. To us," she added quickly. "That you would share this with us." The ensign's voice was hoarse and strained with conflicted emotions.

A gash of raw hurt raced across Janeway's heart, erasing her certitude that Mileena's feelings about their enforced separation had been purged. The scientist before her was in agony, perhaps as much as she, but had taken the lead in concealing her true thoughts until the situation...and copious amounts of emotional lubricant...allowed the barest trickle of expression through. Janeway was still impressed with the half-Trill's restraint. It was a simple acknowledgement, nothing more, and it was just as likely that Janeway was misinterpreting as it was that Mileena was projecting.

Janeway's admission of "I wouldn't miss it for the world," was utterly obscured by the breathless entry of a tall Trill hologram in shining black leather. She bowed respectfully, if frantically, at the Captain and fretted around Mileena.

"'Leena, we need you on stage in five minutes. Are you ready for the set? Gorna Rey is setting up and wants you to do a final cross-check."

"On my way," acknowledged the half-Trill, who nodded apologetically to the Captain. "I've volunteered to operate the lights during the next set. Thank you again."

She slipped off the black robe in a ripple of silk and draped it lightly over the chair, then trailed back into the club after the hologram, leaving Janeway out on the balcony to watch the moon's pale face mock Janeway's own. A few minutes later, though, the familiar moon and sprawling city of Earth was replaced by the massive twin moons of the Trill homeworld and a stunning panorama of its capital. Within, Janeway saw the towering platforms shift to a wilder setting, complete with twisting vines, swooping birds of paradise, and dappled green lighting. A strident female voice called over the music from the DJ's table.

"Hello single bodies, full-bloods and half-breeds. This is DJ Gorna Rey spinning the symbiont-rocking, soul cleansing electro-trance favorites from Trill's hottest 24th century artists. And as a special treat, our synchronized laser light show will be provided by the cause of all your problems and the solution to about as many, your darling Mileena Irae." A cloud of laughter and catcalls erupted at her name. "So fire up the bioneural gel, expand your senses, and release your inhibitions."

The tenor of the music shifted from frenetic crashing to something more meditative, though no less bass-heavy. In fact, Janeway felt her internal organs shifting with every other chord and realized that was exactly what the music was intended to do. The Trill symbionts didn't have ears, but they had enough tactile receptors that they would experience deep vibrations. The sensation seemed not to agree with a fair number of crewmen, who spilled out onto the veranda to grab drinks and take a moment to breathe. Soon enough, they streamed back in to rejoin the undulating masses.

Janeway watched the whirling lights and evocative pictures that lit the walls and painted the floors. Beside the DJ, Mileena had her eyes closed and was waving in time with the music. Her transmitters whirred in a spiral of colors as she remotely accessed the bioneural gel in the holodeck circuitry and directly triggered the holodeck emitters. Had Seven signed off on such a risky move? She must have, since the Borg was not on the platform and hauling the Ensign away. The show was absolutely entrancing, Janeway admitted. Something about being directly connected to the brain of a listener made the patterns more complex and the experience more vivid. With an ivory-colored hand, she idly ran her fingers over the damp silk that had embraced the ensign's body. "I wouldn't miss it for the world," she said again.

For the next hour, Janeway sat on the veranda, continuing to hold court with her crew and enjoying the party in her own, detached way. When not struggling through polite conversation with some crewman or another, she was watching Mileena and basking in her lights. After the Trill set, when the room went blood red and a Klingon took the stage, Janeway snuck out before her own liquid courage would make her approach the object of her desire.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Chakotay wasn't sure if the captain was deliberately making as much noise as humanly possible or whether the room's collective hangover was magnifying every sound until it was a screaming, uncomfortable din. Janeway dropped a padd on the conference room table and, almost in unison, the senior staff winced. Well, all except for Seven of Nine, whose nanoprobes had rapidly processed the variety of alcoholic beverages from last night. She sat there, prim and detached, while the rest of them suffered mightily after too much indulgence.

The commander watched Janeway pace and, from somewhere in his hung-over fog, heard her querying Lieutenant Torres about modifications to the phaser bank. It gave him a chance to contemplate her form and function. Her gold-lit red hair was ever-so-slightly mussed and beige rings sagged around the bottom of her eyes. Her arms moved more slowly than usual and a few times, he saw her waver for a nanosecond, then grip her chair in what should have been a gesture of mere forcefulness.

She'd been strange last night, a bit distant and preoccupied. She had been content to isolate herself on the veranda when in many cases, she would have joined him on the dance floor for a bit of a laugh. Perhaps it was the overwhelming sensuality of the event that turned her off, but he suspected that a particular half-Trill had managed to hook the captain's attention more than she preferred. Most wouldn't have noticed it; in fact, besides him, Tuvok and the Doctor, no one knew the captain and her habits well enough to distinguish her moods. That moment after Mileena was released, when the captain had rushed into her arms and dropped all pretense of mere professional worry, had been the most passionate expression by the captain that Chakotay had ever witnessed. Their subsequent avoidance of each other indicated to Chakotay that whatever had happened after had not been to their liking.

The sound of Seven of Nine finally reporting broke him out of his reverie.

"Captain, I have completed my most recent analysis of the drone strikes. Based on the pattern of attacks and local astronomical phenomena, I have concluded that the next attack will come from this planetary cluster four light years away."

She tapped a few buttons and a binary solar system appeared on all of their screens. Chakotay studied it intently. It was rare to encounter two suns in such close proximity, but it was even stranger to see that there were no fewer than ten planets orbiting around them. At least one seemed to pass between the two suns, which would make it an extremely rare phenomenon indeed.

"This system is comprised of two suns: a class B and a slightly smaller class G. There is a great deal of plasma flux between the two suns, suggesting that one is being consumed by the other at the rate of fifteen million cubic meters of matter per day. In two hundred years, the class G star will have completely absorbed the class B star."

"What about the planets themselves," asked Janeway. "You said that they could be the potential source of the attacks."

"There are fifteen planets orbiting the binary system. At least one is within a habitable zone, though we are too far to determine whether it holds life. There is a great deal of interference from the shared corona of the suns."

"An excellent place from which to launch another surprise attack," noted Tuvok. "It may be prudent for us to avoid this sector."

"I am inclined to agree with you, Mr. Tuvok, but we may be just likely to spend another month or more under constant assault. I'm not sure if Voyager can continue to endure that sort of extended barrage." She paced, more thoughtfully. "Then again, driving Voyager blindly forward into potentially hostile territory seems unwise."

She turned to Seven of Nine. "Do you have a course that will take us out of this area, perhaps one that will provide us with some sort of defensive advantage?"

"I detected higher than average levels of background gravitometric radiation. This led me to locate a dichromatic nebula approximately 1.63 light years away. Once closer to the nebula, it could be possible to modify the deflector dish so that Voyager can use the gravitometric interference to mask our warp signature."

"Excellent. Lieutenant Torres, work with Seven to get the dish ready." A quick discussion ensued about the modifications to the deflector dish that would make this possible before the Captain turned to Tom Paris.

"How goes the _Venture_, Mr. Paris?"

"Excellent," he reported, his usual enthusiasm deeply muted by what must have been an exceptional hangover. "Ensign Baytart and I have done a significant amount of testing, both with just the bioneural console and the simultaneous console and neural transponder. With your permission, we'd like to take another flight."

"In an active combat zone," questioned Chakotay. "That seems unwise."

"I know," reassured Paris, "but we wouldn't be going far from the ship. Also, based on data we've collected from the attackers, it's unlikely that they would pose any significant threat to the shuttlecraft."

The Captain shook her head, then looked briefly as if she wished she hadn't. "I'm sorry, Mr. Paris. Ordinarily I might allow you to do this, but we need your expertise in case there are more attacks."

His face dropped, then took on a sly expression. "Then would you be willing to let us try the bioneural interface on the helm? We've modified it so that the gel pad only takes a few minutes to attach. Plus, it can be ripped off in case of a red alert without damaging any of the helm controls. " Now his eyes were twinkling nearly as brightly as the stars around them. "You've been saying that you want Baytart to have more experience on the bridge during alpha shift and that you want to see the bioneural console in action. Let's combine the two."

"I believe, Lieutenant, that your confidence is overrated," stated Tuvok. "It is unwise to bring untested technology into a combat situation."

"The attacks are hours to days apart and don't last very long. I can vouch that he's a damn good pilot and can easily see Voyager through one of these encounters. Why not have Baytart take a few alpha shifts and attach the bioneural console in between fights?"

Chakotay got the feeling that Paris had planned this conversation long in advance. He must have been taking lessons from Ensign Irae. She had a knack for locating and shutting down logical objections, especially when they concerned alternative and novel technology. It seemed to have worked on the concerned parties.

"Tuvok, is this arrangement acceptable to you," the Captain asked.

"I will tolerate it so long as Mr. Paris remains accessible in case the situation deteriorates." Well, that was as good as it was going to get, mused Chakotay.

"Very well. Inform Ensign Baytart that he is going to be working the alpha shift, starting tomorrow. Dismissed."

The group filled the bridge, displacing the remnants of gamma shift who wearily trickled out to their respective quarters. Paris pulled aside Baytart to give him the good news. Chakotay watched with amusement as the young man's tired eyes grew wider with every word until he turned around, quickly thanked the Captain, and rushed out after the rest of the crew.

Settling into her chair, the captain ordered Voyager to proceed towards the nebula at warp 7, hoping to avoid any conflicts in the interim. She and Chakotay continued to turn over the possible causes of the incessant, mosquito-like attacks. The Captain was of the opinion that Voyager was being tested for her capabilities, potentially as a prelude to a greater strike. Chakotay, on the other hand, recognized the technique as one used frequently by the Maquis. Hassling a ship until it made a crucial error or wasted too many resources to continue was a time-honored tradition. There wasn't much point in their debate since their only real course of action was to proceed further out of the space and to hope that the attacks abated.

Sometime later, the relative peace of the bridge was punctuated by an unusual request. "Exobiology to Commander Chakotay," paged Ensign Soohoo.

He tapped his communicator and exchanged a surprised look with his superior officer. "Go ahead, Ensign."

"Sir, we've encountered a problem with our data. I think you should come down to take a look at this."

As much as Chakotay would have preferred to remain on the bridge, especially since an attack was overdue, he knew that he should go check. The Abraxian mess, in which Voyager had inadvertently aided a future genocide, could have been avoided had he been paying more attention to exobiology. With an assenting nod from the Captain, he answered.

"Of course, Ensign. I'll be right down."

"Thank you, Commander. We're in proteomics. Soohoo out."

He took a quick glance at the Captain, whose fingers tensed at the sound of that department. Wisely, he ignored it as he took his leave from the bridge. If Janeway needed help, he'd be there, but otherwise those depths should remain unplumbed.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Spirited disagreement greeted Chakotay when he entered the small biology lab on deck four. Ensigns Soohoo and Golwat were gesturing at Ensign Irae from behind the forcefield that separated the rebuilt outer lab from the inner lab. Ever since the Erato had restored proteomics to its original state, the outer lab had served as a modular station for any department that required extra processing power. Consoles that once had laid dormant, or that had been frequently blown into space after explosive decompression, remained in active use thanks to the multiple crewmembers bringing some task or another to Ensign Irae's supercomputer. He was reminded at times of an ancient priestess with supplicants seeking her wisdom, but that comparison was something he'd never speak out loud.

Conversation halted as they acknowledged him. The stocky, blue-skinned Bolian stood up to give him her chair while the lithe Asian woman positioned herself beside him as she sat down. Beyond the forcefield, Ensign Irae sat attached to the biomechanical array that provided her with a direct connection to both her own supercomputer and the main computer core through the bioneural gel packs. He deliberately kept his gaze away from her and focused on his subordinates.

"Ensign, what seems to be the difficulty," said Chakotay, adjusting the chair height and rotating into position. Exobiology was his specialty, even though he spent very little time in the lab with his subordinates. Usually, they did an excellent job of distilling the data into a report that was both detailed and fascinating. For the most part, though, raw processing was accomplished while he was on the bridge.

"There's a mismatch," stated Ensign Soohoo, gesturing with a thin-fingered hand at one of the consoles to the left. He peered closely at the display as she explained.

"You know that we've been monitoring the planetary clusters for signs of life. As you noted in our last report, it's extremely unusual for us to travel for a month without encountering any signs of civilization."

Chakotay nodded. Given their proximity to Borg space, it wasn't necessarily surprising that there could have been significant depopulation of many planetary systems. However, Voyager hadn't even detected signs of a pre-Industrial civilization, which the Borg would typically ignore, nor ruins to suggest that the Borg had been through. The planets were just empty.

"Well, Ensign Golwat noticed something."

The bald head of the Bolian inclined towards him. "There were unusual patterns in the mountain ranges of several planets. Several possessed mountain peaks of almost identical heights in the same location on each planet. There were similar electromagnetic signatures on all of their outer atmospheres. Many of them had a single contiguous continent on the southern portion of the planet, half of which was desert and half of which was tropical.

Six planets rotated on the screen in front of him, confirming her observations. "Curious," he agreed.

"I suspected it might be a form of pre-programmed terraforming," continued Golwat, becoming visibly agitated with excitement. "The Vortan of Regal Alpha have been known to employ a robotic task force that reconfigures entire moons for later colonization. Granted, they primarily provide a suitable atmosphere and the correct amount of surface water for the Vortan physiology. However, what if there were a more advanced variety of terraforming that could shape the entire crust of a planet to be completely ideal for a species?"

"So you loaded the sensor data into CRE to statistically confirm your findings," he guessed, leading to the two exobiology ensigns to nod in unison. "Presumable with Ensign Irae attached to the machine for extra refinement."

"And speed," came the voice from behind them. He glanced over quickly, then turned his head back.

The ensign's pale yellow eyes were open and gazing at a space behind his head. Even though he'd seen her apparatus multiple times, it was no less disturbing now than it was during the first initiation sequence. The thick metal robotic arms and head restraint gave the impression that she was locked in place through some ancient torture device. He knew that each component of the machine was linked physically to the ensign via a system of needle-like probes and transdermal implants, which did little to dispel his discomfort.

"So, what's the problem," he said. Ensign Soohoo handed him a padd.

"There's no correlation," she stated. "The patterns are quasi-random. Or at least, that's what we say." She pointed towards her friend in the heavy chair. "Mileena thinks that all of those planets are populated. What's more, all of them have intricate satellite systems and warp signatures that don't match Voyager's."

Chakotay looked deeply troubled and rotated his chair back to stare at the dark-skinned Ensign.

His questions were cut off by CRE announcing, "Disengagement protocol initiated. Please stand by."

There were a series of beeps and the whirring of servos as the bioneural uplink disengaged and lifted enough for Ensign Irae to retract her arms. She blinked a few more times, letting the last of the machine connection clear from her consciousness, and spoke to Chakotay from her apparatus.

"Whenever I see the direct output from CRE, I see populated planets. But when I look at the report myself, I see the same thing as Golwat and Soohoo. I've toggled it back and forth a few dozen times and I always have the same mismatch."

"What do you mean by see the direct input," queried Chakotay.

"It's hard to explain," said Mileena, wiggling her fingers free of the contacts, then paused and gestured towards the planetary display in front of the Commander. "Right now, I'm seeing those planets because the light from the display is triggering an electrical signal in my eye, which is sent to my visual cortex. Then, the signal is sent to the rest of my brain for interpretation, at which point I can understand what I'm seeing."

Chakotay nodded, trying to dig freshman biology from the back of his own brain.

"But when I'm in the machine, I receive the data pre-interpreted. I'm receiving the same information that the computer gets right from the sensors without needing to involve my eye or visual cortex." She sighed in frustration. "I see without seeing, a bit like how I know where my elbow is without looking at it. And when I see what I see in my head, and then I look at the padd, I know it's different."

"Is there a problem with the bioneural gel," he replied. "Could the sensor data be somehow corrupt when it enters CRE?" His brow furrowed. "Have you checked with the Doctor to see if any of your implants are malfunctioning?"

"I'm not sure, Commander," she admitted, idly rubbing her arms. "I'm inclined to believe that there's an issue in CRE's reading of the sensor data. It's possible that he's...it's...somehow tapped into the memory banks of the main computer and is displaying the configuration of other planets." She sighed. "The problem is that I don't know what I'm seeing and no one else can see it to confirm it."

Chakotay pondered his options. The direct bioneural uplink had been a risky endeavor from the start. Up until this point, there had been no significant issues, but that didn't necessarily predict the future functioning of this untested apparatus. Even more concerning, the one person who was most likely to troubleshoot the problem was also the person most likely to be damaged if something went wrong.

"Ensign, I want you to report to Sickbay to check your implants. Assuming the Doctor doesn't find anything, I want you and Seven of Nine to run a full diagnostic scan of the bioneural uplink. Have Ensign Powell assist you." The curly-hair on top of Ensign Irae's head bobbed in acknowledgment.

He turned towards his subordinates. "Ensign Golwat, keep collating data. See if there are any other similarities; broaden your search to include planets we've passed earlier in our trip. Ensign Soohoo, crosscheck your data with other sensor reports. Diagnostics, shuttlecraft, transporter. I want to see if there are any other anomalies. We need to figure this out." He stood up and smiled, albeit a bit grimly. "Good work."

They all beamed at his praise as he left for the bridge. He wished he could return their good cheer. The Captain was not going to like this.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

The Doctor ran his scanner over the implants on Mileena's arms for a third time, then brought the probe up to her skull with a bored flourish. The tiny visible diodes on the skull transponders flashed in time with the tricorder output, causing the hologram to administer a professional glower to his patient.

"Will you please stop that? It's interfering with my readings."

He snapped the tricorder shut as the light show ceased, put down the equipment, and picked up a two-pronged tool from his medical tray. It was a new variant of an old device called a multimeter. It allowed the user to measure current strength and frequency across an electronic connection, in this case, Mileena's nervous system. With a sigh, Mileena closed her eyes as an alligator clamp was affixed to her left skull implant. The other end of the multimeter, a long needle-shaped probe, was wielded with mediocre fanfare by the Doctor. At random intervals, he'd poke the thin metal wand into one of Mileena's implants, causing a mild shock and a cascade of readings. She had no way to predict the location, which of course was part of the test, but she found it no less unpleasant or boring.

The jolts came and went according to the Doctor's whims until he reached the peripheral implants in her pinkie fingers. In contrast to the sensations from her thumbs or forearms, the responses from these implants were dull, distant pinpricks. A series of laden "Hmmm"s emitted from his tight-lipped mouth until Mileena could stand it no longer. She opened her citrine-hued eyes, rolled them towards his bald head, and inquired, "Well, what is it?"

"The signal strength is a full 75% less than expected. In addition, the skin has sunken in around the edge of the implant. I believe it is rejecting." He prodded it a few more times, then pulled out his microscanner, picked up her hand, and peered at it closely.

"I retract my previous statement," he said, concealing his surprise with flat scientific professionalism. "There seems to be an abnormal lattice of connective tissue that has been extruded from the surrounding tissue and wrapped into the neural connection. The skin is being drawn in along with it"

"So it's not rejecting. It's...connecting," she said, puzzled. "Then why isn't it working properly?"

He tapped his chin thoughtfully, then turned around and went to the replicator. Mileena watched him with unusual curiosity. She was technically the expert on this technology, but he was a Doctor and a scientist as well. It wouldn't necessarily be surprising if he had ideas that were different from her own. It was just, well, annoying to see his superiority.

"Computer, I require a one liter nutrient solution of balanced half-Trill, half-human enzymes, proteins, lipids, and glucose. Please make it 22°C." A whirring bucket of brownish glop appeared on the platform. He delicately brought it over to the biobed and unceremoniously dropped Mileena's hand into it. She went to retract it in disgust, but his pale grey hand kept hers in place.

"Humor me, Ensign."

She sighed and wiggled her fingers. "Besides that single weird implant, have you detected any other problems?"

"I have located no malfunctions in your implants," he reported lightly. "With limited exceptions". A hand was waved towards the biological slop on the table. "According to my readings, the connectivity is excellent in both directions. Your body is tolerating the implants relatively well. In addition, you've passed your neurological tests with flying colors. Other than a chronic lack of sleep, a mediocre attitude, and a raving case of lovesickness, you are in excellent health."

She choked at his last diagnosis and looked around for any intrusions. "Doctor, please," she beseeched. "I've been trying to conceal it."

"You're doing a terrible job, Ensign," he remarked. He crossed his arms and gave her a pointed look. "I can't rule out that your psychological state is somehow affecting your neural processing, but your symptoms seem to be limited to moping, dramatic sighs, and the completely ill-advised pursuit of Tal Celes."

Mileena groaned and rubbed her forehead with her free hand. "How did you find this out?"

He cocked an eyebrow and produced a superior grin. "The nightclub holograms provided me with a significant amount of information about the well-being of the crew. Of course, it is strictly confidential once I am made privy to it, so your secret is safe with me." He gave a half-laugh. "And anyone who knows you well enough to tell when your mood is off."

Mileena wiggled her fingers again in agitation. This time, though, a warm rush of sensation rippled up from the supposedly malfunctioning implant. She gasped and he looked even more smug.

"Just as I suspected." He dug out a towel, spread it on the ensign's legs, and lifted out her hand with an expression of disgust. Mileena wilted as the fluid seeped through the towel onto her knees and thighs. While the Doctor could whisk away any spatter in a holographic flash, she would need to go to her quarters to clean up.

With a few pats, he cleared away most of the nutrient solution and pointed to her pinkie in triumph. Mileena was, in a word, confused. The digit, and indeed, her entire hand, had plumped up to almost twice its normal size and was a strange pink color that contrasted uncomfortably with her almond-brown skin. She mentally queried the implant and received a lightning-fast shock of information, including enhanced texture from the towel. It was stronger than any connection had ever been in her body, implant or no.

"Give me a hint, Doctor," she said grumpily.

"As the implant has attached itself to your body, it has required a significant amount of nutrients in order to build new synapses, extra myelin, connective fibers, and so on. However, it isn't being supplied by your circulatory system, so it's been leeching the required materials from the surrounding tissue." He scanned her hand with the tricorder. "I estimate that I have provided it with sufficient nutrition for several weeks, but you should make an effort to supplement your implants at least once a day. I will synthesize the appropriate shampoo for the upper contacts."

"My implants are hungry and I need to feed them? Are you kidding me," grumbled Mileena. Then, she had a more disturbing thought. "Doctor, if they're making extra connections, how are we going to extract them when the time comes?"

He nodded sagely. "I expect that we'll let them naturally reject, perhaps with the aid of an immunosupplement. I assure you, Ensign, that you will complete your experiment with nothing more than a set of fond memories." He patted her on the shoulder as the Captain walked in and promptly wrinkled her nose at the stench of the nutritional broth sitting beside Mileena.

"How is the patient," asked Captain Janeway.

The patient, muttered Mileena to herself, would much rather be sitting in warm, dry, clean clothing than under a layer of lukewarm glop. She would also like it very much if the beautiful, auburn-haired and ivory-skinned woman in front of her would allow her a caring glance and open caress. Mileena recalled the Doctor's admonition and perception of her lovelorn state, so she mustered a pleasing facial expression and nodded politely to her superior officer without saying anything.

The Doctor lifted the vat of fluid and deposited it on the replicator, which obligingly dissociated it into its molecular components. He produced another box of disinfectant and a few clean towels, then returned to Mileena's side and bowed ironically.

"And good to see you too, Captain," he said. The Captain narrowed her eyes, which he merrily ignored. "According to my scans, she is, as Seven of Nine would say, functioning appropriately. I've detected nothing out of the ordinary. Any errors that she is experiencing are most likely localized to her apparatus and not to her."

The Captain appraised Mileena with her cool blue eyes. Mileena kept her composure intact as she luxuriated in the Captain's fleeting attention. Even the sight of that regal posture favoring the half-Trill with its gaze was intensely enjoyable for Mileena. Then, she pulled her unwilling eyes away from the Captain and began the laborious process of cleaning and drying her implants before recapping them.

"And what of the rotten corned beef stew that you've poured all over my crewmember," the younger woman said dryly.

"A nutritional supplement for her implants to facilitate their connectivity. I'll be sure to add some carrots and potatoes next time to make it more pleasing to the senses."

The Captain raised her eyebrow and the Doctor launched into an explanation of his neural growth theory while Mileena slipped the plugs one by one into the slots on her arms and hands. She'd gotten used to doing them herself, but the distal pinkie now protested its engorged state. She fumbled a few times with its cap and the flesh-colored polymer flew out of her hand and skittered across the floor. Janeway retrieved it, mid conversation, and set it delicately in Mileena's palm, allowing a split second of delicious physical contact before withdrawing her hand. Their eyes simultaneously flared open and reverted to normal. Mileena pulled away, tapped the final cap into place, and flexed her fingers experimentally.

At that moment, the Doctor decided to find something fascinating in his office that demanded his immediate attention. He drifted away, leaving the mildly-soiled ensign and her immaculate Captain fidgeting uncomfortably in front of each other.

"I should probably go clean up," said Mileena, dodging any sort of conversation that could lead to, well, anything. "Ensign Powell and Seven of Nine have been disassembling my machine to see where something has gone askew."

"Good, good," replied the Captain, looking no more at ease. "I'll let you return to your duties."

"Um, yes. I just need to change and then I'll be able to continue," said Mileena. "I'm sure there's just a miscommunication somewhere in the memory banks. The bioneural gel has been through so many permutations that it's inevitable something has been miswired. We'll have it hammered out in no time. Well, not literally I hope." She half-eased, half-oozed herself onto the floor, mopping up the remaining fluid from her legs with the terrycloth towel. Tossing it back on the biobed, she called a goodbye to the Doctor and left Sickbay, the Captain surprisingly trailing in her wake.

"Commander Chakotay told me about the data mismatch. I'm certain that we'll find the cause. I'll have Lieutenant Torres include a full ship's diagnostic of the sensor and computer systems just in case," said the Captain with brusque reassurance.

"It's very unusual, I'll admit," replied Mileena. She launched into the same explanation that she'd given the Commander, which filled the time it took both of them to reach Mileena's quarters.

They reached the door and stopped dead. They were simultaneously and overwhelmingly conscious about just what had happened the last time the two of them were in this place. It had been so hot and so sweet that Mileena felt a chill go up her spine at the mere recollection. But when Mileena caught Janeway's eye, she was disappointed to find that there was no reflected emotion in those icy blue depths. Any joke she could have made about avoiding another incident was completely suppressed behind her own scientific facade.

"Thank you, Captain, for your attention. As always, I am gratified that you take such interest in me...in my work." Oh, that slip wasn't obvious at all, said the inner Mileena, which died a few thousand deaths of embarrassment.

A tinge of pink developed about the captain's cheeks, but her response was distantly pleasant and exceptionally professional. As the captain strode away, Mileena dodged inside, took a frigid shower, and swapped into a clean uniform. Then, she went to proteomics, where she could search for whatever it was that was causing her to make mistakes. Well, other than her unrequited feelings for the Captain.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Seven of Nine watched the diminutive engineer crawl around on her hands and knees within the wet lab, then climb up the ladder and wave her arms around the ceiling. The ensign had been doing this for the better part of eight hours while Seven looked on impassively, checking the minute subroutines that controlled the bioneural interface in the outer lab. It was a strange process, reflected the Borg. There was no logical reason for this level of physical scrutiny when the source of the problem was most likely inside of Ensign Irae's neural processor. The second most likely source was far from the lab in the connections of the bioneural gel packs to the main computing core on decks 10. Seven had informed Ensign Powell of this three times, and each time, she had been brushed off with the statement, "I need to check everything."

Had Ensign Powell been her direct subordinate, she would have administered a stern reprimand in a tone taught to her by the Doctor. However, the ensign reported to Lieutenant Torres, who had experienced a typically Klingon reaction to the news of a potential computer fault. Her resulting admonishment of Seven and, by extension, the absent Ensign Irae was quite distressing both in its volume and vocabulary. Thus, given these circumstances, Seven knew it would be futile to argue against unnecessary precision.

Ensign Powell was on her back, once again, staring at the underside of the rear console and moving a tricorder millimeter by millimeter over the quasi-organic circuits within. This was a procedure that Seven was now witnessing for the third time, which was excessive even by Lieutenant Torres' standards.

Seven of Nine bent her well-endowed body over slowly and said, in a carefully modulated tone, "I am going to talk now. Do not get startled."

Previously, Seven's unexpected vocalization had led to the ensign's sitting up quickly, swearing at Seven not to sneak up on her, and accelerating the engineer's cranium into the side of the console. The duranium frame had not been damaged, but a thin trickle of blood had emitted from a cut to the ensign's scalp. That, along with the resulting dizziness, had been swiftly remediated by a trip to Sickbay. To avoid a second interruption in their work, the Borg was being scrupulously careful about the volume and nature of her communication.

The ensign grunted, which Seven took as a signal to continue. "Ensign Powell, you have performed this circuitry check twice already even though I have performed my own evaluation. I doubt that you will find anything that you or I have missed."

A deep sigh emitted from the petite engineer, who slid herself out, stood up, and wiped microscopic particles of dust off of her gold-shouldered uniform. She wrinkled the freckles on her face and ran a hand through her short, ash blonde hair, gestures that Seven correctly interpreted as signs of frustration.

"There's nothing wrong. Nothing at all." She set the tools down on the wet lab bench with more force than was recommended to maintain optimal functioning. Then, a bout of short pacing commences. "I built this system from the ground up with some damn good, excuse the language, engineers. I know every circuit, every optimal range, and every flaw we can't seem to stamp out. Nothing is out of place. If there's a fault, it isn't in the physical machinery."

Seven of Nine nodded. "As I expected. It would be wise to discontinue this avenue of discovery. There are three ensigns on deck 10 who are examining the main computer core. Your work is no longer required."

The ensign's eyes took on a shine that Seven of Nine recognized. It was one she'd seen in the Captain's, in Ensign Torres', and in a number of other faces when the owner was greatly upset but unable to fully express it. Seven did not give it heed, though. There was really no reason to. As far as she was concerned, this work was over.

Two steps later, the ensign was blocking the tall Borg's path out of the lab. "With all due respect, Seven, there is one thing we haven't tried."

The Borg cocked her implant and leveled her cool gaze down at the ensign, whose emotions were causing her to visibly vibrate. It was quite fascinating in its own way. "And what is that, Ensign?"

"Let me connect to the direct interface. This is the best way for us to provide another piece of experimental data. It could eliminate Ensign Irae herself as the source of the mismatch."

Seven thought carefully. The captain would be displeased with this, but the logic was inescapable. Having another experienced user operating the console could potentially clarify the source of the issue. On the other hand, the captain was visibly unnerved by the bioneural interface in any form, while Tuvok would object on security grounds. The young Borg shook her head.

"Based on my knowledge of the Captain's and Lieutenant Tuvok's beliefs, I cannot authorize this course of action."

Another flash of 'fire' appeared in the young woman's face, but instead of protesting, she nodded politely and collected her tools from the wet lab. As the ensign retreated from proteomics towards the mess hall, Seven of Nine had what many humans called a feeling in her gut. In this case, something in the posture of the ensign made the Borg believe that the test might be run regardless of Seven's opinion.

Seven alerted her superiors as to her decision and was met with a round of approval for her discretion. As she left, though, she neglected to initiate the full set of security lockouts around the lab. She was not, after all, the ensign's direct superior. Lieutenant Torres was. It would be wrong for Seven of Nine to interfere with an internal engineering matter.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

It had taken an annoying amount of courage for Mileena to ask Chakotay for his aid on contacting her animal guide. Even though he'd offered his support, it still felt like a strange imposition on a superior officer. They had a cordial, bordering on friendly, relationship prior to her more recent activities. That, to Mileena, didn't give her enough status to approach him on what was essentially religious grounds. She eventually sought him out, in part due to mental turmoil and in part due to rampant curiosity. The hours of meditation she spent in front of…that picture…on her altar rarely brought peace anymore. A week of mental back and forth eventually led her to his office, where a fumbling conversation arranged a meeting.

Their first foray into the great psychic unknown had been unsuccessful, thanks primarily to a red alert during the opening part of the ceremony. Mileena's disappointment was tempered with relief; it felt extremely strange, bordering on offensive, to use someone else's sacred relics as her own focus. By the next meeting, she'd collected the things she found most dear, or at least, were the most accessible: a shell from her favorite ocean on Trill. A curving jasper orb that, when touched, displayed pictures of her family. The first bioneural implant that she created. She cut the hem away from one of her Erato robes and wrapped the items within it. It was a source of slightly bitter amusement that those aliens, more so than many of her own kin, had touched her so deeply.

Now she was in his office, free of glop, and ready to try again. Their bodies faced one another across the cleared-off desk. Both of their medicine bags lay before them, their contents splayed across their individual fabrics. He did not question what she had added, though she thought he raised an eyebrow when he noted the bioneural prototype. Or not

Chakotay moved the grey and tan _akoonah_ towards her. Hers wouldn't be constructed until she had successfully accessed her guide and, more importantly, accumulated enough replicator rations to create the small electronic accessory. She pressed her hands against it and listened to him begin the ceremony.

" A-koo-chee-moy-a. We are far from the sacred places of our grandfathers. We are far from the bones of our people..."

She fell easily into the trance, blocking out the rest of his words as she wandered her mind. It was intuitive after so many hours within the bioneural network. The only difference was that her inner being, rather than some plasma relay on deck 12, was the destination of her thoughts.

Mileena found herself on a rather bland plain. After growing up on a homeworld famed for its wild jungles, teeming oceans, and violent mountains, the expanse of browning grass dotted with squat shrubs and scraggly trees was almost insultingly featureless. The only thing that broke up the monotony of coloration and shape was the cloudless, azure sky and blazing white-blue sun. There was nowhere on Trill that was this monotonous; even its deserts were jewels.

The yellow-green carpet beneath her feet crunched discouragingly as she began to walk forward. A searing, bone-dry breeze blew motes of soil into her eyes and speckled her uniform with red dust. It smelled like handfuls of straw and a land empty of water. A few steps more and she had stripped off the top of her sweat-soaked uniform. With grimy hands, she ripped out a few pieces of fabric and fashioned a makeshift mask to shield her face from the wind, heat, and particulates. Her vision was almost entirely obscured, but she could move forward without being blinded by the dust. Part of her considered breaking out of her meditation, but the other part was too curious about the whole experience to give up quite yet.

She trudged onwards until the wind abruptly abated. In fact, the entire quality of the air had changed. It was cool and sweet with the scent of moist earth. What had been silence interpreted with roaring gusts was now a cacophony of constant noise. Bewildered, she removed the cloth from her head and appraised her surroundings.

The plains had given way to a massive body of almost-still brownish water. Its muddy banks bore several towering trees, their branches stretched in jagged horizontal layers from their gnarled and jutting trunks. "Acacia," said Mileena out loud, recognizing the foliage from the street near her grandfather's house. Not Trill. This was Earth. This was Ethiopia, but before the cities had overrun into the fields. An un-ruined Ethiopia from a time that no human, nor half-human, had seen in hundreds of years.

Animals, now, made their appearance as she approached the edge of the water. She danced her fingers over the surface and the fish within swam to the top, curious about whether her movements indicated food or a threat. The disappeared when tall birds with violent plumage called and dived into the lake, each returning with a wriggling creature that disappeared into their gullets. Across the lake, a few crocodiles lazed on the banks and snapped at a hippopotamus, who looked completely unconcerned by its supposed predators. Behind the half-Trill's back, the earth vibrated with the incessant rhythm of moving herds: gazelle, zebra, and buffalo. She thought she heard a lion roar in the distance, but any other noise was obscured by the thundering around her. She didn't stand up; if the animal guide wanted to make itself known, it would. Meanwhile, she'd play with the fish.

The sounds subsided until only a few remained: that of the water, the wind, and an insistent thump. Now, Mileena's heart rose in her chest even as she waited for the creature, whatever it was, to approach. The mythologist in her wondered if it were a lion, while the child in her hoped it was a giraffe. She stayed towards the ground until the shaking stopped. Then, a hand placed itself on her shoulder and shook her gently.

She turned around, frustrated that Chakotay had interrupted what she had hoped would be the long-awaited interaction with her animal guide. Her protest died in her throat as a long grey appendage retracted underneath a thick, curving pair of tusks that were angled unnervingly towards her torso. A set of massive ears waved once, ruffling Mileena's hair, and she found herself being peered at by a saucer-sized eye lined with thick black lashes.

"An...elephant," she stated, contemplating the dust-encrusted grey beast. "You know, I wouldn't have expected that. I never had much of a connection to Earth."

The elephant blinked, then began to walk away from her. She darted after it...no, him...and tried to find her footing as each of his steps rattled the land beneath them. "Wait, did I offend you?"

Mileena got the impression of a patient chuckle from the swaying animal as they continued forward. "No, I guess not," she admitted. "I think you'd get that a lot, you know, being an elephant instead of a bird or something. Or, I mean, am I your only companion? Are you shared? How does this work?" She reached out and put a hand against the thick hide of the elephant beside her. "Wait, please, I don't understand. I have so many questions."

He paused, rotated his thick head, and touched her shoulder once again with his dexterous trunk. Her patter of questions died off, irrelevant. His colossal, steadying presence washed away her doubt and need for comprehension at this moment. Instead, he waited for the question she needed to ask instead of the ones she thought she should.

"How...do I start...to let go of what happened to me," she said quietly. "Chakotay said that you would be my guide. I don't even know where to begin."

The elephant stomped his front feet. Once. Twice. Three times. The ground beneath each gigantic foot was pounded flat and dense until the soil was a red-black brick. He moved forward and did it again, faster than Mileena thought that he could move, until he was several paces away from her. With a wry smile, she looked down. He'd made a literal path for her to navigate. Was she that bad that she couldn't handle metaphor? She moved along the path until she reached the animal, who had stopped and was placidly munching a shrub.

"Well, that's a start, I guess," she said, placing her hand on his body once again. Small flakes of mud crumbled off onto her skin. "I think, though, that I need to leave. There's a meeting I should attend. But, you'll be here next time? Right? That's how this works?"

He didn't answer, but she knew her questions were put at rest once again. She couldn't help but add in one more inquiry, which he did acknowledge. He gave her his name, which reverberated in her mind as strongly as his footsteps did upon the steppes. The beast receded and the trance lifted.

Her eyes fluttered open and she saw Chakotay grinning. He was leaning his chin on clasped hands and appraised her features as she emerged.

"You're quite good at that," he noted. "You've been under for about a half hour. Most people don't take to meditation so easily."

"I don't usually," she admitted. "I can only quiet my mind when my mind is already quiet. The rest of the time, I just sit there and worry about not being able to stop worrying."

"Well, with practice, you should be able to extend it to your tumultuous mind as well," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I hope this was helpful for you."

"I'm not sure," she said, recalling her silent interactions with the beast. "It was quite different from just praying. I didn't expect to see anything, but he was there. I thought there'd...I'm not supposed to be saying anything, am I," she said, her voice tapering off.

He smiled tolerantly at her, then dismissed her to her evening. She wandered back to her quarters, with the sense of the massive bulk of her animal guide plodding before her, making sure that she got to her destination.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Everything that created Lauren Powell gave her a healthy disrespect for rules. She grew up on Alpha Morelis, a half-forgotten rock between Deep Space K-7 and the Klingon border. It had the unique distinction of being the only functional Klingon/Human colony in the galaxy, in part because everyone there was sick of their lots in life and wanted a fresh start. Klingon warriors who had grown weary of Klingon politics and Klingon intrigue mingled neutrally with humans who found the Prime Directive too stifling and the Federation's stance too weak.

Her parents were ex-Starfleet who had watched the Federation crumple haplessly before one too many invaders. They marked themselves as dead and dropped out of the Federation as much as they could without defecting altogether. Unlike most of the humans, they elected not to go the boring route of making their living as smugglers or soldiers. Instead, they ended up on the platform above the icy planet, repairing any ship-Klingon or human or otherwise-who threw the right credits their way. Their business partner was a Klingon ex-freighter captain who had run afoul of one too many politicians; the bribes required to move his cargo eventually outweighed the value of the materials themselves. The whole thing worked well, better than most, and Lauren had grown up with a hyperspanner in one hand and a Targ in the other.

And, well, Lauren only joined Starfleet because her parents recognized that a bright young mind would eventually tire of patching together sputtering shuttles that were two warp jumps from exploding. Lauren appeared on the Manzar colony and was promptly deposited on the doorstep of a long-lost aunt. The woman recognized enough of her sister's face in jut of Lauren's chin and the hazel in Lauren's eyes to let the girl in the door. From there, a whirlwind of papers and tests led the young woman back to the very organization that her parents had abandoned. She advanced, she excelled, she hid her background, and she took after her father, her mother, and the half-dozen Klingons who made up her extended family. She took up the Starfleet way and somehow appreciated its order and hierarchy, but never quite shook off the vestiges of her more entertaining upbringing.

As a result, she could operate any piece of equipment on Voyager well enough to tweak or break it to her liking. She'd never be B'Elanna Torres, regardless of her skill in the Klingon language, but she could take a scrap heap and reassemble it into a barely-functioning machine in a few hours. She knew how to mask a transporter signature and how to ping-pong herself over a half-dozen relays until she reached her destination unnoticed. And, of course, she knew how to make the sensors think she was wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Every bit of this knowledge was thrown together as she dematerialized from her quarters and reappeared a minute later, against orders, in the midst of the wet lab.

Which was already occupied by Mileena.

Her friend was sitting cross-legged on the heavy chair, dressed in that ridiculous Erato garment that she insisted on wearing instead of a normal pair of pants, and reading a report off of a dimly-lit padd. The scientist's curly black hair moved upwards as she acknowledged the rapidly reddening engineer.

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd show up," said the scientist mildly.

"What are you doing here," blustered Lauren. "You're off duty. You're so off duty that you're not allowed to think about work from 20:00 to 07:00 hours."

"I'm not working," replied Mileena, gesturing with the padd. "I'm reading up on my sculpture technique. Oh, and waiting for you, so I can prevent you from making an absolutely stupid, completely avoidable mistake."

Lauren flopped down into the chair beside the bioneural console and leaned herself heavily against it. She'd spent all day in here and returning hadn't been on her list of things to do, but someone had to run the checks on the interface. By god, she'd built it. It was her duty to repair it, lest she be dishonored by her family and crew.

"Define mistake," she said miserably.

"You're going to hook into the console to see if it's working correctly. You're going to do this against orders, landing you, and maybe the rest of us in trouble again. It's not worth it, sweetie," said Mileena, bending over and rustling Lauren's hair. "You've told me that."

"Something is wrong, 'Leena, and I'm pretty damn sure it's not you and it's not the console. Meanwhile, people are crawling all over the computer core instead of letting me do something that's actually useful." The Klingon blood she'd absorbed in her lifetime railed against this restriction by her ordinarily insubordinate friend.

The pale brown form of the half-Trill unfolded itself from the chair and crouched down next to Lauren.

"I know, but let me argue it. That's how it has to be, remember? No more lying, no more hiding, no more secrets unless we really need to."

"Then what do I do," growled Lauren. Mileena failed to rise to the challenge.

"Go home. Get sleep. Come with me tomorrow when I try to overcome stupidity with logic."

Lauren slumped, then nodded. Mileena wrapped her arms around her fondly, then half-lifted, half-dragged the engineer out of proteomics. A few minutes later, Lauren busily helped Mileena expunge all record of Lauren's foray into proteomics. If anyone asked, which they probably wouldn't, it was just an automatic diagnostic of the emergency transport system and nothing more. Then, she was in a heap on her bed, with Mileena sitting nearby, reading her manual and idly running her fingers over Lauren's skin in a fond and intimate gesture. No more hiding, Lauren mused as she fell asleep in Mileena's lap, but no sense in putting themselves on a platter if it wasn't required. At the moment, it was most certainly not.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Pablo Baytart had certainly seen the helm on alpha shift before, but that was usually because Tom Paris was having an off day. Being escorted to his chair by a bubbling Lieutenant Paris was a completely unexpected experience, but one that Pablo was glad to receive. The two settled down to talk shop while Alice fiddled around with the helm, carefully attaching the leads from the bioneural console to the standard contacts below. Pablo watched her petite form work just a few centimeters away. It would be wildly inappropriate to grab her around the waist and sink his teeth into her pale skin just to get that enticing growl of enjoyment. There'd be time for that later. Maybe. If Lauren didn't mind too much.

The grey, silver-flecked material pulsed with energy atop the cream-colored hardware. Alice pushed one hand into the gel and let the undulations lap around her fingers. She scanned the apparatus with her tricorder and smiled at the young helmsmen.

"You should be all set," she said. "Remember that the release catch is on the left. Pull it hard enough and the entire thing will come away. Just...try not to do it unless it's an emergency. You'll break Mileena's heart if she has to rebuild it." There was a roll of her black eyes and a light sashay in her hips as she excused herself from the bridge.

Pablo sat down and adjusted himself in the unyielding metal chair before positioning his hands over the gel.

"By your command, Captain," he stated firmly. A tremor of excitement in his voice escaped his control. Had he been facing backwards, he would have seen a tolerant, knowing look exchanged among Paris, Chakotay, and Janeway. They all remembered what it was like to be on the cusp of discovery. It was hard not to enjoy watching someone else go through it.

The bioneural gel warmed to his touch and took on a lighter hue as he manipulated the surface. Within the gel, the glittering contacts solidified into lightning streaks of silver that branched towards toward his fingertips. On either side of the bioneural gel, the conventional circuitry lit up and displayed a bevy of information. He checked the engine status, headings, and sensory readings before settling himself more fully into his seat.

The next hour went by completely without incident. He flickered his attention among the heads-up displays and manipulated the gel to keep Voyager within meters of her intended course. This wasn't the hard part of flying Voyager. He could bring little Samantha Wildman up here and let her steer without any sort of performance loss. It was a trial run, after all. This was to see if the ship would respond cleanly and quickly to the bioneural input when, not if, Voyager were attacked. Mileena hoped that everyone on the ship would learn to use the bioneural interfaces. Pablo wanted, not a little bit selfishly, for him to be the absolute best so that he'd be the natural go-to. Too bad that she would always be better unless he made the drastic physiological modifications she had accepted. That wasn't going to happen. As it was, bloodying himself on the console was discomfiting. Speaking of which...

"Captain, with your permission, I would like to engage the direct interface for a limited trial."

Her voice was slightly strained. "You know my objections to this, Ensign."

"Yes, ma'am. I understand if you would prefer not to proceed, but Ensign Irae would like to confirm that the interface is appropriately integrated with Voyager's systems."

She didn't answer. Instead, Pablo heard her prod Tuvok for a response.

"I share your reluctance, Captain, but I believe our precautions are sufficient. Ensign Kim," continued the Vulcan, "monitor the bioneural interface for any signs of unusual activity. Immediately disengage helm control if any occurs."

The young Asian man that Pablo found so annoying gave his assent. Pablo pushed his dislike away. There was time elsewhere to brood on that.

With a stifled breath of pain, the helmsman plunged his fingertips abruptly into the gel. The rapid shift in pressure signaled the transition from merely manipulating the console to physically integrating himself with it. Blood seeped from the tiny pinpricks in his skin as the adaptive neurons within the gel reached up and formed welcome connections with his own nerve cells. He took a few minutes to adjust until the pain was just a dull ache and the blood part of the gel. He closed his eyes and relaxed, but only for a moment. His chiseled features descended into a deep frown.

Something was wrong. Even though his eyes were shut, he felt like...one of his eyes had been slightly strained and now his inner world was a sliver out of focus. This happened with the gel time to time, but it usually passed as the synapses between himself and the gel strengthened their connection. Yet as the minutes ticked past, the discomfort was only growing.

The sensation all but vanished when he opened his eyes again. Very strange. Masking his uneasiness, he performed another visual sweep of his arrays. Now, the wrongness returned. The gel was sending him something that was contradicting his conscious senses. But what could it be?

He tilted his head downward in supposedly curious contemplation of the console. Instead, his mind whirled frantically. Was there a malfunction in the synapses between his hands and the gel? He ran a quick mental cross-check and found nothing awry there. No, this might be a result of a shaky link between the conventional and bioneural hardware. Perhaps the console wasn't built to tolerate Voyager's excessive input.

"Ensign, report," stated the Commander. "You've been a bit quiet."

"Sorry Commander," replied Pablo, a bit more distantly than he preferred. "I'm just settling in and getting used to the helm." Well, that wasn't a total lie. "Voyager feels quite different from the _Venture._" His pulse thudded quicker and the gel increased its activity in response. "Would you let me run a quick connectivity confirmation? I want to see if I'm properly integrated.

"Of course," said the ex-Maquis.

Pablo exhaled and gave the command. "Computer, run bioneural uplink sequence Baytart alpha six." He closed his eyes once again. One by one, his fingers twitched involuntarily until he gave a return signal. Colors lit up behind his lids and vibrations reverberated around his hands. He frowned again. If anything, this was making the wrongness worse.

With effort, he looked at the sensor data from the bioneural gel and then, opening his eyes, compared it with the displays on either side of him. His visual and his mental senses clashed enough that he had to suppress a wave of nausea. The ship wasn't where it was supposed to be or operating as it should. Maybe it was time to get a second opinion. Maybe he was just misremembering his orders.

"Captain," he said cautiously. "What is our intended course?"

He could hear the raised eyebrow in her voice. "125 mark 223 at warp 6. We're heading towards the nebula to shield our emissions."

Once again, he closed his eyes and let the bioneural information trickle through him. The mismatch was there, just as Mileena had described before. They weren't going in that direction at all. Even worse, there was no nebula on long-range scanners. There was only empty space and the stars beyond. The ship was heading in the opposite direction, towards the binary star system that Voyager was purposefully trying to elude.

Pablo gritted his teeth. This could be a fault in all of the bioneural materials, perhaps induced by a fatigue in the materials. The implant tests could have distorted his senses somehow. He could just be misreading the helm's feedback. Or...there was something wrong with the ship's conventional sensors that the bioneural gel was somehow bypassing. With every insistent second of data transfer, he was beginning to believe the latter.

"Is there a problem, Ensign," said the Captain, coming over to him and leaning over his shoulder.

"Captain," he started, then stopped. This was going to ruin his chances of flying Voyager forever, along with destroying the bioneural project altogether. However, if there were something wrong with Voyager, well, his ego would just need to bear the hit.

"Captain, the bioneural console currently says that we are heading 250 mark 110 at warp 7," he said, then breathed heavily. "Even though the ship's sensors say we're going towards the nebula, we've been heading away from that region of space. Furthermore, there's no nebula there at all."

"Are you certain," she said, bending over him and watching his fingers manipulating the gel.

"It's only apparent, Captain, when I concentrate on the bioneural feedback. If I look at the left or right monitors, I see what you say I should. But when I try to adjust course to compensate for sensory information, the console registers a fault: I'm asking it to respond to something that isn't there."

Chakotay was also beside him, scanning the monitors in tandem with the Captain. "Is this similar to what Ensign Irae reported?"

"I believe so, sir. From what she described to me, there's a dual stream of information: what I see and what I am sent. It's only present when I'm connected."

"Could it be the apparatus," questioned the Captain. "Some sort of interference from the nebula's radiation or from the ensign's work with the bioneural network."

Pablo blinked, and then punted. "I don't believe I'm qualified to answer that, Captain. This is the same console that we've used successfully in the Venture, but I'm not the person who does most of the wiring." A twinge of guilt rippled across his stomach. It wasn't nice to throw his ladies to the wolves, but to be honest, he wouldn't be able to explain what he was seeing without help.

"Disconnect yourself, ensign," the Captain ordered. Then she tapped her communicator. "Ensign Irae, please report to the conference room."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

It had taken Mileena five minutes to disconnect from the apparatus and another five her to disinfect and reset her arm plugs. Then, she half-sprinted up to the bridge, composed herself into a sturdy facade, and walked inside. Mileena glanced around the room. Lauren and Alice were already there, flanking a pale-faced Pablo, whose distant gaze didn't quite register what he was seeing. The rest of the senior staff sat beside them, their eyes fixed on the pacing Captain. Chakotay gestured to a chair beside him, but something in the Captain's otherwise lovely posture suggested that Mileena would be literally thinking on her feet.

"Captain, what seems to be the problem," said Mileena, painfully aware that she had already raised the younger woman's ire by showing up a full ten minutes after she was summoned.

"Ensign Baytart has informed me that the ship is not heading in its intended direction," said the Captain. "Everyone else on the bridge disagrees."

The ensign cocked her head and clenched her hands behind her. "Was he experiencing a sensory mismatch," she queried. Pablo nodded his head absently; for whatever reason, the side effects of the bioneural console weren't wearing off as quickly as she'd hoped. He probably tore himself right off without doing a proper shutdown; she'd need to troubleshoot that over a beer or two.

"This represents the second time in as many days that the bioneural components have countermanded the computer's sensors. I want to know what's going on," said the captain firmly.

"We've been exploring that, Captain. Engineering and Seven of Nine have spent an extensive amount of time poring over the computer cores, the bioneural connections, and the apparatus itself. No fault has been uncovered," replied Mileena. She watched the captain's face, which registered a flicker of annoyance at what she thought was an excuse. "I am fully convinced that the problem is not with us or our equipment."

"This is untested hardware, Ensign," reminded the captain. "It's premature to say that you're convinced of anything without more data."

A flare of annoyance lit in the half-Trill's belly. "With all due respect, captain," she said evenly, "A version of the direct interface has been operational for over a year. Some parts of the bioneural machinery are nearly three years old. The bioneural interface has been built, tested, operated, and refined by the best scientists on the ship. When I say I am convinced, it is in light of our collective work. Your personal inexperience with the equipment does not make it untested." Mileena regretted the words the minute they left her mouth and a collective intake of breath from the junior officers confirmed her misstep.

Janeway stopped pacing and granted Mileena a look so cold that it raised a line of goose-bumps up her spine.

"My personal inexperience, ensign, is what keeps me from discontinuing this project altogether. The little I've encountered personally suggests that the bioneural console is unreliable at best and physically dangerous at wprst. However, those experts with whom you have worked assure me that I haven't seen enough to make an informed opinion."

Mileena wished, desperately, that someone would break in to save her from her carefully-modulated flailing. There was only silence from her comrades. She was left to untangle this mess alone. The ensign took a breath. She looked at her friends, whose work she trusted. She looked at her superiors, who judged her almost as harshly as she judged herself. She looked, finally, at the magnificent captain, whose affection she would never win. There was no other hope, really. She adjusted her tone to placating.

"Captain, I trust my work and those who have constructed it. We have gone over every bioneural circuit in my apparatus. I have submitted to a complete physical. I can perform the same studies on the helm console and the Doctor may examine Ensign Baytart. Seven and I have created several sets of external transmitters that you can test, but they're going to find the same result. It isn't us."

"Then what is it," demanded the captain.

Mileena's head thumbed through the minimal data points they had. Constant attacks by unknown parties, planets that weren't what they seemed, a steering problem that only manifested when Pablo focused on the gel. No, when he saw the computer's directly output. When he wasn't relying on the sensor readings but on the electrical activity of the sensors themselves, which is exactly what was happening to her.

"I believe that," said Mileena tenuously, "that there is a problem with our interpretation of the sensory readings. The computers are working just fine, but we are...unable to read them in the usual way." The red-haired woman in front of her narrowed her eyes in disbelief. Time was that Janeway might have trusted her more, but those days were gone now.

"Captain," said the Vulcan security officer. "We have encountered situations in which our perceptions were distorted. On several occasions, some or all of the crew have experienced hallucinations relating to their duties. It is not impossible that this is happening again."

The Captain paced faster, picking up his thread of thought. "However, the bioneural consoles speak directly to your cortex, bypassing the normal means of sensory experience, creating the mismatch between your eyes and mind."

Mileena nodded. The captain's ire lifted ever so slightly and Mileena felt a rush of relief. Perhaps she hadn't torpedoed all chance of working with the gel.

Janeway tilted her head up and looked at Mileena's supervisor. "Seven, can you use your ocular implant to scan data from the helm?"

The Borg nodded and tapped a padd in front of her. Her eyes went slightly crossed and the metal plate above her left eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly. In a mechanical voice, she stated, "We are heading 250 mark 110 at warp 7, towards a binary star system." Then, she looked down at the padd in confusion. "However, the information on this padd directly contradicts this."

"One final test," said the captain, frowning. She stopped pacing and tapped her comm. "Janeway to the Doctor. Can you join us in the conference room?"

"Of course, captain," he stated evenly. "What seems to be the occasion?"

"It seems we can't rely on our physical senses anymore." The captain's brow tensed. "We're going to need you to help interpret the sensor readings."

"I see. One moment please." The Doctor materialized next to Mileena and looked at the assembled crew. Janeway motioned for Seven of Nine to hand the Doctor the padd, which he took and squinted at dramatically. "Everything looks normal," he said, trying to give back the small piece of equipment. Janeway stopped his arm.

"Doctor, where are we going," demanded the captain.

"Well that's certainly out of my purvey." Her look was withering and he discontinued his blithe tone. "The ship seems to be flying at warp 7 towards 250 mark 110. If I must make a conjecture, you're investigating an interesting binary star system."

"Thank you Doctor," said Chakotay, then he paused and took the padd from the hologram, moved his fingers over a few times, and then handed the equipment back to the captain. The red-haired woman's face was grim and thin-lined as the hologram finished his input.

"So we're operating in the dark," she said in a voice dark and sharp with modulated anger. "We have three sources of information on the ship that are accurate and the rest are being distorted."

"Captain, isn't it plausible that our conversation is being changed as we speak," queried Harry Kim. "If these aliens have the ability to fool our visual senses, they might be just as likely to fool our auditory ones. For all we know, we're all unconscious in our quarters and this entire meeting is a dream."

The room went uncomfortably silent. Mileena's gaze switched from the captain's solemn, tight-lipped face to the equally troubled faces of her peers. There was a measure of invasiveness that came with the implication that some unknown hand was manipulating one's senses and, by extension, oneself. Mileena was relieved that the heavy metal rivets in her arms were offering her some protection against this force. She half-consciously ran her fingers around one of the arm plugs and squeezed it into her skin as if it were a stress toy.

The Doctor was the first to offer a suggestion that wasn't a further deepening of their collective uneasiness.

"That seems unlikely, Mr. Kim, simply because of the energy required to maintain such an elaborate set of sensory information. Assuming for a moment that I am not currently part of the singular dream of some unfortunate crewmember, whomever is interacting with your minds would need to be altering an extremely varied set of stimuli to keep the scene consistent. Everything from accurately altering my voice as it changes location…"

The Doctor disappeared and flickered into place on the other end of the conference room and continued his explanation with a slightly raised voice, "To the movements of your bodies as you responded to me would need to be processed and replaced." He flickered back into place next to the Captain and raised his hands upward. "A race with that level of mental control would have no issue simply turning the crew into mindless puppets who did nothing more than fly Voyager into their waiting clutches. This variety of subterfuge would be absolutely superfluous and irreconcilably showy."

The captain seemed satisfied with his response.

"Yes. It would be far easier to implant some sort of unconscious suggestion that would lead us to ignore certain visual data and reach a different conclusion, at which point we would act accordingly." She gestured to the padd. "We don't hear or touch Voyager's sensory data. We read it. We see it. It wouldn't occur to us to ask the computer for something we could see…or thought we could see…with our own eyes."

Janeway arched her neck towards the ceiling as if asking for a sign from a higher deity. "Computer, what is Voyager's heading and speed?"

To Mileena's ears, the computer's voice was now that of a comfortable and familiar friend. Of course the computer would know the answer. She was quite wise and infinitely patient. Mileena tugged herself back to reality. It would serve no good purpose to anthropomorphize the machinery in that way regardless of how well it seemed to treat her. Instead, she preferred to admire the lean lines of the captain as she acknowledged the computer's predicted answer of "250 mark 110 at warp 7".

Janeway nodded, her face still grim. She turned again to her senior crew, all but ignoring the collection of out-of-place ensigns who were obviously cluttering her conference room.

"We must operate under the assumption that Voyager is being affected by some sort of psychogenic transmittance field. We need to figure out who's behind it, what's causing it and, most importantly, how to stop it." She rocked back on her heels a little. "I am open to suggestions.

Lieutenant Torres shook her head, brown strands of hair shaking back and forth to emphasize her annoyance. "Well for starters, we can't transform all the sensory readings into constant auditory output. There are a dozen people working on two dozen simultaneous projects in engineering. It would be useless cacophony even if we all had earpieces." She leaned her arms on the table and leaned forward towards the rest of the crew.

"But worse, in theory, we've been traveling for a month with these sensory distortions occurring all around us. Even assuming that each planetary system we've passed has had some sort of generator and amplifier, there are still hundreds of light years of empty space that would need to be seeded with this technology." Her voice went low. "Isn't it more likely that we're just suspended in space somewhere-"

"Not necessarily," interrupted Tom Paris. He was almost quivering with new realization. "The constant attacks from the harrier ships. They appear, take off about 10% of the shields, and then leave or are destroyed. I bet that they're somehow perpetuating signal by physically attaching devices to Voyager's hull."

Inspired, Harry Kim asked the ship, "Computer, are there unusual adhesions to the hull?"

"Unable to comply. Please specify parameters for unusual."

Harry Kim looked slightly frustrated. "Any devices or molecules that were not part of Voyager's original complement that have not been logged as entered by the crew or accumulated during normal spaceflight."

"Unable to comply. There is no data on the impact of normal spaceflight on a Federation vessel when flying through the delta quadrant."

Harry continued. The room exchanged a series of bemused grins, though Mileena found herself unamused. At least he was trying to outthink the problem. This is exactly what she would have done had she been allowed to talk. "Extrapolate based on previous data from the alpha and beta quadrants."

The computer paused and the room stopped smiling. Then the computer returned its verdict. "There are 1023 atoms that would not be expected to be found on the hull of a ship traveling in the alpha quadrant."

Harry Kim drooped, defeated, and Tom patted his friend on the back in a way that was not unkind. "Good try, but I think we have an easier way."

He cut off again and looked at Mileena expectantly. In spite of her infatuation with the captain, Mileena found herself pleasantly warmed by his boyish good looks and always welcoming smile.

"Can you query the ship to see if its hull has any sort of structural anomalies relative to what it expects? Maybe a psychogenic emitter-"

"Can't we just look out the window, Tom," asked his increasingly frustrated wife.

"Not if our visual information is being bent," he answered, apparently oblivious to her tone of voice.

Now it was the captain's turn to cut off a train of thought. "A level four diagnostic of the hull's sensors will accomplish the same thing, Mr. Paris. No need to involve Ensign Irae in this any more than necessary."

Mileena winced more visibly than she meant to, earning a pang of sympathy from both Tom Paris and Harry Kim. Both had experienced their fill of being shot down, overwritten, or denigrated when the captain had set her mind against them.

"Captain, a true full scan would require Voyager to come to a full stop and drop shield sections for several hours. If our attackers are monitoring our activity, any unusual behavior might make them suspect that we're no longer fully under their control." Chakotay was calm but insistent. "In this case, I believe the bioneural connection will be the fastest and most accurate way to detect abnormalities in the hull." He indicated Mileena, who was, as always, thankful for his intervention. "We've already established that the connection is sound and immune to the effects of the distortion."

Janeway appraised Mileena, who met her gaze solidly. The ensign knew she would get nowhere by being forceful. Mileena wanted nothing more than to perform the scan, if only to prove to the captain that the console was a good idea and that the captain should want to be near her once again. The two were linked, to Mileena's professional dismay. That shouldn't have been the case, but here it was.

"Do you believe you can accomplish this more quickly than the conventional scan," queried the captain. Her voice was tight and controlled.

"Yes captain," said Mileena, feeling very out of control in spite of the flattened emotion she needed to display. "I can direct the sensors to ignore the usual scan parameters and focus solely on defects and then report the outcome in real time." The captain gave an imperceptible nod. "And if we're only querying a small amount of the hull at a time, the ship can probably stay at warp. I can't be certain, though, until I'm actually interfacing with them."

The captain allowed herself to relent. "Very well. Mr. Chakotay, supervise this operation. Ensigns Soohoo and Baytart, you are relieved of bridge duty. Please assist Ensign Irae in her calibrations." Her friends slumped slightly, but no one could be surprised at the outcome. In a crisis situation, the captain was likely to have the people with whom she was most familiar on the bridge.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," she added more warmly. "I know this has been a fascinating experiment and that you are disappointed to put it on hold. At the same time, if it weren't for you, we'd be literally flying blind." She turned to the whole room.

"In the meantime, I want to find some way of circumventing this control. Let's not forget that we're due for another attack. If the ships are enhancing these sensory distortions, we may lose all progress."

"Since I am unaffected by these attacks," noted the Doctor smugly, "I will monitor the crew's behavior. Should you be acting unusually, I will have no choice to relieve you of duty."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Dismissed."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Mileena crawled into the heavy chair and reconnected to the computer. Pablo, Alice, and Lauren sat by their stations in the outer lab to monitor the sensory output. All were successfully suppressing the raging annoyance they wanted to express but all valued their newly-attained rations enough not to insult their senior officers.

At their signal, Mileena followed the mental tendrils leading to the bioneural gel controlling the ship's external sensors. Waves of activity began passing by her as the scan initiated and the gel began routing its findings into the main computer core, CRE, and now Mileena. She watched the signal's interpretation through the mind she shared with the computers and felt her skin begin to crawl. The ship was covered in them, like glittering insects clinging greedily to the surface of some large food source. Many were darkened husks, their power spent or their housings cracked, but many were alive and shrieking their own form of signal towards the inhabitants of the ship. She felt nauseated and disoriented. What was she seeing, again? What was she looking at? CRE pulled her back a little and shifted her perception away from the hull, a compensation for which she was grateful and slightly wary. Regardless, this was what she needed.

"At a quick count, there are 400,302,101 of these devices in varying states of operation," she said distantly. "They seem to be attached to the hull by tiny spikes that are just sharp enough to provide traction without triggering a hull breech warning." She tried to access the memory that she shared with the computer. It required a little bit of a push and then she continued. "They appear to draw on some of the shield emitter's energy to generate a signal. However, the majority are powered down."

The cool, solid blue colors of Chakotay's voice ran through the room. "Which is why the ships keep attacking. Maybe that's a part that tends to get damaged with use."

"Potentially," she said absently. She tried to maneuver the sensors to get a better assessment. However, the outer hull lacked the ability to give her more than a vague assessment of the item. "I can't tell from here." She drifted around the sensory information and tried to glean more from what she was receiving. Then, she let herself drift more and worked on optimizing some of the connections between herself and the machines. There was always time to prune and strengthen connections.

An exchange of blue and red punctuated her consciousness. The captain and Chakotay were debating something passionately. Another color, the blazing orange of Lieutenant Torres, joined them. Mileena lingered around the colors but recognized she was beyond words at this point. It was just impressions of sounds. She luxuriated in the sensations. If they needed her, they would ask.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

"It's too risky," opined Chakotay over the comm. "Even with the Doctor's monitoring, we have no way of knowing whether the device will power up once inside the ship or what it can do when there's no longer a hull between us and it."

From Engineering, B'Elanna tried to override him. "We don't know what we're dealing with, though and that will make it almost impossible to remove these things from Voyager or counteract their effect. We need to inspect it."

Janeway rubbed her temples from her seat on the bridge. They were both right. She was proud of their diligence and frustrated at the same time that she'd need to override one in favor of the other.

"B'Elanna's right. We can't stop this interference if we don't know how it's being caused. Set up a level 10 forcefield in Engineering and beam one of the deactivated devices inside. Make it so that the device is disintegrated should it even hint at regaining power."

They agreed in unison and the comm went silent. The bridge, too, was free of chatter. Everyone there was on edge, waiting for the now-familiar trio of ships to appear. The tapping of Harry's hands on his console and the quiet thrum of the engines were the only sounds that permeated the stillness, leaving Janeway deep in thought once again.

She's been too harsh on the ensigns, in retrospect, especially Ensign Baytart. None of them had done anything but their jobs. More than that, they had spoken up when they noticed something was awry. She prided herself in being willing to consider other possibilities, yet here she was punishing the young crewmembers for their ingenuity. It was the nature of their discovery and the way it in which it was made that unsettled her so. She prodded herself a bit more. And, of course, part of her mood came from discovery being shepherded by Mileena.

The comm came alive once more. "Captain, we've encountered a problem," stated B'Elanna.

Of course. "What's the matter, Lieutnant?"

"No one who isn't interfacing directly with the bioneural console can actually see the devices. Ensigns Baytart and Soohoo can only describe them when they're using a direct connection in the outer lab. We can't get a lock on it because we can't put in any parameters."

"Can Ensign Irae handle the transporter commands herself?"

"Negative, Captain," answered Chakotay, who apparently was listening in. "She says she doesn't have the knowledge to do anything more than activate the transporters. She can't pass the device through the forcefield or ensure that we only get the device and not part of the hull." His voice held that tinge of subversion and cleverness that he had been using far too often when talking about this project.

"I assume you have a solution," asked Janeway dryly.

An unexpected voice, that of the young Lauren Powell, answered her. "With your permission, Captain, I would like to use one of the external transmitters when operating the transporter. This way, I can use the bioneural network to bypass the sensory distortions."

Janeway considered the request and looked at Tuvok, who nodded in agreement. "Do it."

"In fact, Captain, I think it would be prudent for all of us who have an external transmitter to start wearing them. That way, if there is another attack, we'll be able to use the bioneural network to circumvent any strengthening of the signal." Chakotay's voice was calm as he supplemented the rationale of the young ensign.

Now Janeway hesitated. She was being forced to rely on a technology she actively distrusted. All of the components were still in their testing stages and the ship was in a potential combat situation. Once again, though, she needed to override a good officer to do something challenging. In this case, the officer she needed to override was herself.

"I'll allow it," she said, excluding any residual trace of uncertainty from her voice. "However, I want constant checks with the Doctor. If any of you start behaving abnormally, I want him to detach the external contacts."

"Thank you, captain," said Chakotay. Once again, the comm went silent.

Janeway got up and straightened her jacket. The waiting was becoming dreary and wearing down her resistance. In spite of her battle readiness, her thoughts were being pulled inexorably towards Mil…Ensign Irae. Janeway rarely received open challenges from her staff and never, in her recollection, from an indirect subordinate. Janeway knew she was formidable and, regardless of the social encouragement from her senior staff, she continued to consciously maintain a certain level of detachment from the crew. Ensign Irae was largely immune to her usual tactics of maintaining control, which is why she was so infuriating and so very hard for Janeway to put out of her head.

The two of them had not really talked since that day in the holodeck nightclub, and even then, it had only been a few sentences. Janeway had deliberately ignored the ensign's friendly overtures in Sickbay and her subsequent insinuation that she still had feelings for the captain. Turning aside those emotions had seemed extremely prudent at the time.

Except now, with minutes ticking towards an unknown attack and an unknown solution, Janeway found her desire to be reasonable completely irrational. If Janeway had intended this separation quash her desire, then her plan had failed spectacularly. She was just as attracted and just as desirous of the ensign as she was before. It was just being complicated by the captain's feelings on the bioneural console. All she had succeeded in accomplishing was making the two of them miserable.

"Three ships, approaching on an interception course," noted Tom Paris. "It's the same model ships as before."

"Red alert," Janeway said, sitting down in her chair. "Prepare to fire when they're in range. Mr. Kim, I want you to run a full sensor sweep of the ships. Get every piece of information on them, especially whether they discharge any sort of small projectiles. It doesn't matter if we can't understand the sensor data right now. The bioneural console will help sort the readings out later."

Lieutenant Paris' hands moved swiftly at her command and ship turned in response. From her training, she knew that this offensive maneuver would orient Voyager's phaser banks towards the attackers so that she could order Mr. Tuvok to launch the most optimal assault with their primary weapon. When the ships returned fire, she could initiate an evasive maneuver to take Voyager out of the attackers' line of fire. Until this battle, though, she had never considered how dependent this entire sequence was on her visual awareness. She operated on the principle that the ship's sensors, absent any gross malformation or malfunction, were faithfully rendering the outside world. This was standard. If she thought to double-check every sensor reading for accuracy, the ship wouldn't have left Utopia Planitia.

But she also assumed that she correctly perceived the output of those sensors. With that no longer the case, this dogfight took on a whole new dimension. Were the ships actually where she thought they were or was she incorrectly assigning them in space? Could they be to the aft of the ship? Were they there at all? She pushed aside the doubts as quickly as they leapt to mind. She hadn't second-guessed her competence in battle for a long time. This was hardly the time to start.

Tuvok informed the captain, "A direct hit on the lead ship's starboard shields. The shields seem to have buckled and the vessel is heading off. The other two have resumed their attack formation."

"Mr. Paris, evasive pattern delta four." A few flashes of light followed her command.

"Both ships have hit the port shields. Shields down to 92% and holding."

"Mr. Tuvok, return fire." Voyager released two phaser beams, one from each of the main arrays, and cut a line across both of the attackers. One managed to partially evade the fire and banked hard port. The other took the brunt of the more powerful ship's weapon and exploded in a shower of satisfying sparks. The remaining ship fired several more rapid-succession phaser strikes against Voyager before it too was destroyed.

"Sensors indicate no sign of either ship, Captain. The third seems to have engaged a cloaking device and retreated."

"Damage report," she demanded.

"Shields at 80%. Minor damage to Deck 12, section 3," replied Tuvok evenly. "No reported injuries."

"Good," replied Janeway, sitting down. "Cancel red alert. Maintain our course towards the nebula." She would be glad to put this entire set of incidents behind her. A few hours recalibrating the deflector dish while in the nebula would give Voyager enough concealment to make it out of this odd, lifeless region of space without being attacked again. She rubbed her forehead with increasing fatigue. She had only been on the bridge for a few hours but it felt like she had been on duty for days. She made a note to get everyone some shore leave once they cleared the sector.

Her comm came alive again. "Sickbay to Captain Janeway."

She tapped her communicator in worried response. "Janeway here. We were led to believe there were no injuries sustained during the attack."

"You are correct, captain, but I am contacting you with a question," he said with unnecessary patronization.

"Yes of course," she replied, wishing he would get to the point.

"Do you and the rest of the bridge crew remember that we believe there are psychogenic field emitters on the ship that are altering your sensory information? We discovered several million attached to the hull and are in the process of analyzing one now."

Janeway blinked her eyes in absolute confusion and turned to Tuvok, then to Tom Paris, then to Harry Kim. All of them shook their heads in disagreement.

"No, Doctor, none of us are aware of any such conversation. Are you certain that this actually occurred? Is it possible that your matrix was somehow damaged in the most recent attack?"

He let out a tortured sigh. "Well, this was not entirely unexpected but it is tremendously annoying. Captain, you instructed me before this most recent attack to relieve you of duty should you start behaving abnormally. I would consider your not remembering most of the day's activities to be profoundly abnormal."

She gritted her teeth and suppressed a more biting reply. "Do you feel that is necessary at this time, Doctor?"

"So long as your abnormal behavior is limited to an incorrect belief, I will allow you to remain on duty. However, I suggest you report to proteomics to talk with Mr. Chakotay. I believe he will some answers for you. Sickbay out."

Janeway looked at Tuvok for an explanation, but the impassive Vulcan only inclined his head. "It is possible that the Doctor has been damaged in some way. It is also possible that we have somehow been exposed to a memory-altering effect. If you recall, there was a sensory data mismatch of unknown etiology in proteomics and exobiology. Perhaps this is another case of that phenomenon."

She nodded. "Potentially. I don't like this, Mr. Tuvok, but in the meantime I will heed the Doctor's suggestion. You have the bridge."

She strode purposefully into the turbolift and made her way to Ensign Irae's lab. If her posture suggested confidence, it masked the creeping discomfort she felt after the Doctor's message. There was no reason to believe he was lying. At the same time, there was no suggestion that anything was out of the ordinary other than her first officer inexplicably being in proteomics during a red alert. And what was this tiny element of jealousy at his being with the ensign? Why was he even down here?

The doors to proteomics slid open to reveal a tight cluster of her crew gathered around a blank display in the outer lab. She kept her eyes away from the wet lab and the impaled crewmember within. Instead, she walked over to Chakotay, who looked at her carefully. The Captain noticed a set of red and yellow transmitters on either side of his scalp. Those must be his own bioneural interfaces. Had she given him permission to wear them while on duty?

"Captain, we've started analyzing one of the devices we found on the hull."

Janeway's face registered the statement but gave no sign of recognition. He looked troubled and turned to Ensign Soohoo, whose set of transmitters spiraled more quickly than those of Chakotay's. The ensign had that half-dazed look that signaled a deep attachment to the bioneural console and her fingers moved effortlessly across a conventional console, obviously receiving data from a source outside her own mind. Janeway hadn't realized how far along that track of research was; previously, a direct biological connection was needed to work with the bioneural gel at that level of connectivity. Now there was a less physical way to accomplish the same tasks.

Chakotay continued his conversation with Soohoo, but his gaze remained on the Captain.

"Ensign, can you confirm that more devices were deposited on the hull during the previous attack?"

"Yes, commander," she replied. A whirring started up behind her. "Another 193,220. In addition, Mileena says that many of the previously inactive devices have gone active, which may be responsible for the rest of the crew's disorientation."

"The rest of the crew," queried Janeway. "You mean you are not affected by whatever is happening?"

Chakotay paused and frowned more deeply. "Captain, how much do you remember of what happened this morning. Do you remember Ensign Baytart's test run of the bioneural console?" The dark commander pointed to male ensign, whose head was bent over another blank console flanked by flickering telemetry data.

The captain looked at her second in command with increasing suspicion. Not of him, but of her own memories. It was far later than it seemed, wasn't it? There was a shadow of a memory and a thought just hovering at the edges of her perception. If she tried to recall it, she found herself coming up empty. If she weren't aware of the missing memory, she would have dismissed her lack of mental acuity as a trick of fatigue. After all, how many times had she gotten lost in her duties on the bridge or in the heat of battle?

"No, I don't," she said firmly. "However, I'm guessing there's something distorting our perceptions but that the bioneural console interface is helping anyone who is connected to bypass the interference."

"Correct," came a quiet voice from the wet lab. "They're. Reading…the se-nsors. It's –rcing the-m to se."

Janeway let her eyes travel to the direct uplink. Ensign Irae's yellow eyes were open but unfocused. The direct contacts disappearing into her dark skin seemed to glint silver and scattered CRE's own indicators into starbursts of blue and yellow. The captain was torn between her insatiable drive towards scientific exploration and her desire to completely dismantle the entire, unnatural apparatus.

"Can you translate, Mr. Chakotay," said the captain. "And is there any way to allow her better communication when in the bioneural interface?"

"We've been working on the latter, captain," noted Ensign Powell. Her own contacts were whirring brilliantly but she seemed less taken in by the apparatus. Whether that was through training or depth of connection wasn't something Janeway could ascertain. "According to Mileena, she-" Powell cut off her explanation sheepishly and let the commander answer the other question.

"In addition to our usual connection to the bioneural gel, we're receiving data directly from CRE's sensory uplink to Ensign Irae. The readings provide just enough interference for the psychic distortions to be ignorable. As a result, we're able to work with the emitters without being fooled."

He gestured to what appeared to be an empty console. "This is a three-dimensional model of the emitter we teleported off the hull. I'm guessing you're not able to see it." Janeway shook her head and a combination of frustration and embarrassment rose to her cheeks. She disliked being at a tactical disadvantage, even more so when she was around her subordinates.

The monitor blurred suddenly and Janeway felt a brief moment of vertigo that subsided as Janeway blinked, then squinted her eyes. Instead of an image, the console displayed what looked like an interleaved geometric pattern. The quiet voice from behind the forcefield said a single word.

"Stereogram."

Janeway peered closer and relaxed her eye muscles. She'd seen these little pictures as a child, when a matrix of blues and reds could be resolved into a sailboat or a dinosaur. A few moments of ocular adjustment later, she saw the device for the first time.

"We are trying to find ways around the psychic block. We guessed that a stereogram, which bypasses a portion of normal visual processing, would let you see the device," stated Ensign Soohoo as she watched the captain inspect the screen. "Did it work?"

"Yes," replied Janeway, and looked more closely.

It was a small oval with a domed surface and a studded array of lights ringed around the top. Tiny teeth protruded from the bottom, though some were bent or missing. Two partially-crumpled antenna jutted akimbo from the sides. Divots where more antennae could have been placed covered the entire dome.

"Would you like me to rotate it, captain," asked Ensign Soohoo.

"Please," she answered crisply. The stereogram obligingly altered its composition and the device shifted from being viewed from the size to being viewed from beneath. A concavity containing two empty cylinders sat in the middle of the emitter's base, which was otherwise coated in these small teeth. Chakotay began explaining what they had found.

"Each device is approximately four centimeters by two centimeters in radius and two centimeters high. The body is a standard tritanium alloy and most of the inner wiring is unremarkable. However, there are two features that stand out." The base of the visualization took on a blue highlight around the teeth.

"These crystalline spikes are thin and sharp enough to pierce the hull by inserting themselves between just a few molecules of duranium at a time. They also have a large number of facets and an exceptionally high index of refraction."

"That might explain how they get through the shields," observed Janeway. "They're able to deflect the subatomic energy of the graviton particles and create an anti-graviton field just large enough to let the emitter through." Chakotay nodded, following her train of thought, and she continued, her thoughts whirring as quickly as the machine behind her. "That's why we need to be under attack for the emitters to be attached. The shields are fluctuating and the graviton particles are moving fast enough in response that they're more likely to disperse when they encounter a localized disruption."

Janeway looked inspired and tapped her comm urgently. "Captain to Engineering."

"Yes Captain," replied the frazzled chief engineer.

"B'Elanna, can you modify the shield emitters so that they create a higher density layer of graviton particles at the farthest edge of the shield?"

Her Klingon subordinate responded in a voice pitched half a tone higher than usual. "But captain, that will reduce the overall flexibility of the shields. We'll have more trouble shifting energy to locations where the shields have been weakened."

"It's a chance we need to take," replied the captain firmly. "Otherwise, more of these emitters will get through to the hull. Also, I want you to determine what is usually set in the base of these emitters. Something is missing and I suspect that whatever it is will be the key to deactivating all the remaining emitters."

A pause followed and the captain wondered if the sensory distortion had cut off her communication with engineering.

"I'll have Ensign Powell work with Ensign Irae again to manipulate one of the less damaged emitters. I don't want to bring anything that seems fully intact inside the ship," replied B'Elanna finally.

The captain furrowed her brow. This was obviously an arrangement that she had agreed to beforehand and that Lieutenant Torres apparently approved. Yet it was still strange for these ensigns to take a new prominence among her closest associates. That had been a drawback, she mused, of forming such a tight bond with her bridge crew: many of those below decks had been wrongly overlooked.

"That's going to need to wait," observed Ensign Soohoo. Her voice was clearer and her diction impeccable once again. Janeway turned towards the scientist, once again feeling slightly off center as her visual input shifted, and saw the young Asian woman stretching her neck and blinking her eyes.

Almost in concert with Soohoo's voice, CRE's inner computer core announced cheerfully, "Initiating shutdown procedures. Please stand by."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

The world around Mileena shifted back into view. The computers had been extraordinarily soothing after all the visual and emotional turmoil of the day. Their logic and the complex, yet straightforward, connectivity of the bioneural gel was preferable to negotiating her way through her science and social interactions. Once within the confines of her machinery, she'd been able to manipulate the transporter, create the visual profile of the device, locate all devices on the hull and, most importantly, untangle massive sensor dump that had preceded the most recent pass of their attackers. She'd not been able to discuss what she had processed while within the computers, but now that she had her own voice, she could give a full report. It was crucial, important beyond anything she'd found since helping the Erato. She needed to tell her captain everything.

As the apparatus withdrew, Mileena took stock of the surrounding room. The three other ensigns, Commander Chakotay, and the captain were all clustered around a screen that bore some sort of waving pattern. _A stereogram_. She reminded herself. _Of the…devices?_

The memory and understanding that she had just attained were slipping rapidly, as if she were waking from a dream. Why was everyone here? Was there something important? She wavered slightly and then initiated her neural contacts. CRE's familiar presence returned and now she was actively screening out the effects of the psychogenic field. Her eyes widened.

Not taking the time to begin her sterilization, she blurted out, "The Botha, Captain. These are Botha ships emitting the Botha's hallucinatory interference. I recognize the patterns from our last encounter."

The others wearing the transmitters nodded in uniform agreement. Only the captain stood there, appraising Mileena with those ice-blue eyes, and seemed cautiously perplexed.

"The Botha, Ensign," she questioned, turning to Commander Chakotay. "I'm not aware of this race, but it would seem that I am alone in believing this. Is this ignorance another product of the psychogenic emitter?"

"It might be," he replied, his dark eyes shadowed and troubled. "That would explain why none of us made the logical connection between the configuration of the attacking ships and our sensory disturbances. It seems incredibly obvious in retrospect."

The captain frowned and sat down at a monitor. "Computer, replay all Captain's logs associated with the Botha. Start from our first encounter."

As the Captain's recorded voice filled the lab, Mileena took the time to clean out her contacts and reset the plugs. With dismay, she noted that all of the implants had begun to retract the skin. She would need to spend more time bathing them in their nutrient bath if she wanted to keep them attached and healthy. Somehow she was forming connections more quickly than before, probably as a result of her increased sensitivity to the machines. With a final tap, she replaced the last plug, deactivated the forcefields, and sat down next to Ensign Powell.

Then, she discretely watched the captain. The logs were exceptionally detailed, as one would expect from a superior officer. They explained the complete events of Voyager's first encounter with the Botha, from the captain's first hallucination of a cucumber sandwich to the Botha ambassador's final, ominous message.

The computer had elected to play all of the logs in chronological order, including Janeway's personal logs. If the captain were perturbed by this, she gave no evidence until the recording talked about her own hallucination, a sexual encounter with her fiancé, Mark. With a sharp command, the captain terminated the logs, stood up, and looked at her assembled crew.

"So this is our enemy, one who can manipulate our senses with ease and skill, preying on our deepest desires and fears. However, there seems to be some ways around it." She shook her head. "But yes, I understand. As I stop talking about the Bot-ha," she hesitated, "their suggestion climbs back into place."

She peered back at the stereographic display. "How long until we're in range of the binary star system? The Botha obviously want us there for some reason?"

"At current speed, approximately twelve hours," responded Chakotay. "If we're going to do something, we need to do it quickly.

Janeway nodded and tapped her communicator with purpose. "B'Elanna, I need you to re-implement the shielding we used to screen out the Botha's hallucinations."

Lieutenant Torres replied, "Who?"

Mileena shut her eyes and concentrated on her contacts, then on the bioneural gel, then on the pathways that the bioneural gel took to the lieutenant's own transmitters. She increased the activity between those devices and CRE's link with the ship's computer. The strength of the sensory mismatch must have increased enough for the hallucination to break its hold.

"Dammit, the Botha," swore the Lieutenant over the comm. "I should have known. But Captain, those modifications used the deflector dish and the shields. If the psychogenic emitters are on the hull, the shields won't be as effective."

The captain looked puzzled once more and Commander Chakotay jostled her slightly. "You're talking about the Botha, a race that uses hallucinations to manipulate the crew. You're discussing a way to eliminate them by using shield modulations."

Janeway's face went cold and solid. "Thank you, Commander. Lieutenant Torres, see if you can make the changes using the structural integrity field emitters as a carrier. You should be able to divert some of their power without the ship's falling apart."

"But we'd need to drop from warp," argued back the Lieutenant. "And we don't want to alert the Botha to our improvements."

The captain's response did not hesitate and the firmness of her voice took on a crystal edge. She was throwing off the hallucinations. "Manufacture a plausible shipwide malfunction once you have made the adjustments. That will give us enough time to assess our position."

Mileena could picture the half-Klingon's scowl and felt Lauren's face make the same one. Just another impossible task that would need to be made possible as quickly as possible. However, all that returned from Engineering was, "Torres out."

The captain turned her gaze to the rest of the room. "In the meantime, I want you all to work with engineering and security. We need find a way to remove these emitters from our hull or at least to deactivate them completely until we're out of range of the Botha."

Ensign Soohoo replied very delicately, taking the fall for the question everyone wanted to ask. "Captain, we are the only ones on the ship, besides the Commander and Lieutenant Torres, who can reliably see these devices. Do we have your permission to work more fully with the bioneural interface so we can convert the data to something we all understand?"

The captain turned her face fully to Mileena, who let herself melt under its intensity. How could someone so terrifying and powerful be so absolutely beautiful?

"How long can it be used safely," she asked.

Mileena didn't break her gaze while racing through her data. "The indirect contacts have never been stress tested, but the transmitters can probably be used for several days without permanent damage so long as they are turned off when not working on crucial tasks." The captain nodded. "The direct interfaces, for Lauren, Pablo, and Alice, can only be used for a few hours at a time, but longer if they're allowed access to the dermal regenerators."

Janeway took a step closer and indicated towards Mileena's arms and their hidden components. "And what of your apparatus?"

There was the answer Janeway expected, recognized Mileena, and the truth. Janeway wanted to know how many physical hours Mileena could spend working with the computers before it was dangerous for her to continue. That response was in the realm of fourteen hours if she were very careful. The truth, though, was what she selected.

"Captain, the limiting factor for the apparatus is twofold. One, the connections seem to draw on my body for sustenance. This can be easily remedied by a constant infusion of high-calorie, high-nutrient fluid directly into my bloodstream, which can likely sustain me indefinitely." She took a professional breath to fill the anticipating silence.

"The second is more abstract. The longer I spend in the apparatus, the harder it is for me to disengage. At a certain point, I will require external aid to reduce my connection to the bioneural gel. I can partially avoid this by keeping myself at a relatively low gain, but there's no way to completely circumvent it."

The captain looked at her with an expression Mileena couldn't completely parse. Concern and dissatisfaction hid another emotion that vanished when the captain rubbed her strong jaw with one hand. "I'm reluctant to let it go that far, ensign. Assuming no supplementation, how long can you interact with the machine before it becomes too damaging?"

The half-Trill suppressed her sigh. "Fourteen hours, at which point I'll need approximately six hours of soaking in the nutrient broth to regenerate the lost tissue." Mileena interleaved her fingers behind her back and continued, "But Captain, this means all of the transmitters will be less effective for the time I am out of the machine."

Janeway narrowed her eyes. "I thought they worked independently of your own connectivity."

"To a point, yes, but only Ensign Baytart has fine enough control to consciously modulate the gain without a direct interface. With all due respect to Commander Chakotay and Lieutenant Torres, no one else trained enough to adequately adjust the level of interaction. If the Botha increase the strength of their attack, it is unlikely the transmitters on their own will provide adequate interference."

The captain looked towards her first officer and the two exchanged a subtle, meaningful gaze.

"We will have an answer for you shortly," said Commander Chakotay, and the two exited proteomics swiftly.

Mileena sagged into her chair and let Lauren muss her hair. "Why can't they just let me do what I want," she whined. "It's not like I'm going to die or anything. There are too many fail safes."

"I don't know, 'Leena," replied the petite engineer. "It could be all the years you spent lying to them and nearly killing yourself over your work." Mileena gave her a piercing glare and the petite brunette rolled her eyes. "And it's unfamiliar tech." She leaned down and their skull transmitters hit with a click, causing both women to pull back and rub their heads.

"Yeah, because the captain has so much trouble integrating the Borg's technology into Voyager when it suited her purpose," snorted Soohoo. The scientist walked into the back room, picked up a dermal regenerator, and went back to the outer lab. She gently picked up each of Pablo's hands and ran the device over his brutalized fingertips once more.

"There's something along the lines of a quintuple standard at this point. One for Seven, one for Torres, one for Paris, one for Henry Kim of all people, and one for the rest of us idiots."

She put down the regenerator and leaned back on her chair. "But I know the moments I start complaining, the captain will walk into proteomics, tear me a new one, and dismantle everything you've worked for. So I'm going to pretend that I agree with all of this." She tapped her communicator.

"Soohoo to Ensign Kim."

A confused, eternally perky voice emanated from the bridge. "Kim here."

"Ensign, Captain Janeway has instructed me to work with you on deconstructing some sensor information from the last battle. When do you have a chance to speak with me?"

His voice fumbled impressively. "Um, I can get, um, someone to replace me at Ops. Now, I mean, yeah. How about in 15 minutes?"

"Excellent. We can use the resources in exobiology. Soohoo out." The comm link went dead and she finished her thought. "It's not like we're doing anything useful there anyway." Her dark eyes went wide.

"Oh no. No no no no no."

Mileena and Lauren sat up in unison and reached out to their friend. "Sweetie, is so-"

"He thinks this is the precursor to a date, doesn't he? We're both Asian. We're both single," she nudged the bemused Pablo gently, "more or less. And we're in a tense combat situation, which makes everyone randy. Hooray." She didn't wait for a reply. Instead, she stood up, straightened her uniform, and blanked her face of all emotion. "I'll see you later."

She walked out of proteomics, acknowledging the two senior officers outside with a curt, "Sir. Ma'am," and went to deal with Harry.

Pablo and Lauren took that as their cues to also exit towards their respective departments, though the young man agreed to meet Mileena a bit later for a discussion of just how he should remove himself from the gel in an emergency. This left the ensign blessedly alone for all of 30 seconds before the captain returned, though with Seven of Nine following her instead of the commander. Mileena rose and acknowledged her superiors.

"Ensign, I want you to work with Seven to create a monitoring and disengagement protocol. I believe she is the most appropriate person to create a safe way for you to interact with your machinery without your losing your sense of self," said Janeway briskly.

"Of course, captain," replied Mileena, slightly baffled.

"Once that is finished, I want you to rest and obtain enough nutrients to allow you to last for several hours without supplementation. Once Lieutenant Torres is ready to begin the shield modifications, you will use your apparatus to aid her as previously planned. Should the process take longer than expected or should the Botha interfere, the Doctor will assess your condition and, if required, initiate an intravenous infusion."

A gust could have toppled over the ensign. She was just given permission to use the apparatus to its full extent for the first time. Fully and totally. That impulse to wrap herself around the captain in gratitude was suppressed by her decorum and the absence of affection in Janeway's eyes.

"Yes, captain," she said, failing to erase every trace of excitement. "We will configure the apparatus to minimize risk." She thought quickly and added, "I will obey this to the letter of your instructions."

"Good," said the younger woman, more firmly than Mileena expected. "Do not show me that I am making a mistake by trusting you." The petite redhead nodded. "Seven, Ensign." She breezed out of the room.

Mileena gave the Borg in front of her a massive grin. "Well, let's get started."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

When the captain asked Seven of Nine to assist Ensign Irae, the young Borg had easily comprehended only one of the three instructions given by her superior officer. The first was extremely obvious and logical. There must be a way to disengage the ensign's conscious functions from those of the computers without damaging either system. Furthermore, that disengagement must be automatically initiated under well-defined conditions that did not terminate the connection too early to be useful nor too late to prevent harm. The apparatus would be configured in such a way to maximize connection to the other transmitters without requiring as much input. In this way, the ensign's sudden disconnection would not render other crewmembers' transmitters useless.

The second task of deciding whether the ensign should be allowed to override the automatic shutdown, however, was left up to Seven of Nine. "Use your judgment," said the captain. Seven of Nine did not fully understand this direction. She expected the captain to have a strong opinion. Indeed, the Borg suspected Janeway did. However, it was being suppressed for an unknown reason. It was gratifying to be trusted in this way, though the concept of judgment was still foreign. What should be judged, and how?

The third instruction was even more vague. "You have unique insight into the experience of full sensory integration with machinery and what it will feel like once it is terminated. I think you need to convey that to the ensign before she is ready to begin this process in earnest."

Seven had not had time to ponder this directive fully and she was being quickly caught up in the ensign's boundless enthusiasm for this project. The Borg tried to rein her in to the topic at hand.

"It is desirable for you to lose most contact with the outside world, correct," queried Seven of Nine, returning the studious look with one of her own. "In this case, screening external stimuli completely may even be necessary."

The ensign nodded. "However, a total loss of volitional disengagement could be unhealthy."

The Borg recalled the visual discrimination task she had witnessed during testing with the Erato, causing her to sit down at one of the CRE consoles and bring up that body of data.

"At 50% gain, you lost most contact with the outside world." Seven felt an unwelcome flush come into her cheeks at the memory of being disliked by the machinery. "However, you voluntarily removed yourself from the apparatus when you felt an…unpleasant stimulus."

It was impossible to visually detect the flush on the other woman's almond skin, but the brief rise in her heart rate conveyed that the ensign remembered the incident and experienced an emotion because of it.

"Yes. I'm…sorry for that, Seven. I had no idea that would happen."

"It is irrelevant," said the Borg quickly, not wishing to belabor the point and cause them both more unnecessary emotion. "The amount of engagement proceeds linearly with gain. I will set the cutoff at 60%." There, that seemed appropriate. The ensign would be well-engaged but still responsive. However, Ensign Irae's face registered a different opinion.

"I do not believe that will be adequate," she said carefully measured syllables. "With practice, I can retain better control at a higher percentage of integration. My consciousness at 60% gain more resembles that at 40% gain a month ago."

With a quick search of the data, Seven confirmed that to be accurate. She also noted that the maximum attempted percentage had been 71%.

"You stopped at 71%. Why?"

The ensign nodded. "I felt an exponential loss of awareness between 68% and 71% and terminated the sequence. I felt too separate from the outside world for me to be comfortable even though my processing power was enhanced."

"You determined this on your own," asked Seven of Nine.

"Yes," she replied. "I recorded it in the logs and made sure never to approach the level again."

Seven understood once more "judgment". If the captain were here, she would have said the ensign had matured, just as Seven had done in her first few weeks on Voyager. When the tall Borg first heard the comment from the captain, she replied that it was natural she should mature as time had passed. With a laugh, the captain explained that maturity meant an improved recognition of limits, an increase in patience, and a better sense of responsibility. If those were the criteria, then the ensign had matured in Seven's eyes as well. She was no longer willing to push the edges of safety nor to put herself into needless danger. Perhaps it would be appropriate for Seven to reward that behavior, just as the Borg had received in the past.

"Very well," said Seven. "I will set the cutoff at 70% gain." Seven then used her judgment.

"However, I will allow you to override that cutoff if you feel that the ship would be in danger otherwise."

The Borg sensed the half-Trill's significant jump in breathing and heart rate. She turned to face the ensign, who had lowered herself into a chair and was clutching the seat. Despite her obvious state of physiological arousal, the ensign had a calm, scientific voice.

"I appreciate your allowing me to do that. With this limit in place, I feared I could be hindered while in combat." The ensign turned to the console and began typing furiously. "We should set up a way for the automatic termination to be linked to the red alert, weapons, shields, and internal communications. If certain conditions are not met, the termination signal will register a fault and lock me out."

Seven nodded. "We should set up those parameters." However, the instruction was extraneous as the ensign's fingers flew across the machine and began reciting potential conditions.

"Red alert should be active, or at least recently activated by the bridge crew. The shields should have been…hrm, but what if shields…" The conversation was as much with herself as with her commanding officer. Seven noticed that while she was chatting with herself, the ensign's contacts whirred in a swirl of blue and green. An almost imperceptible increase in CRE's auditory output, a gentle hum, followed.

"You are communicating with your machinery," queried the Borg. "Is this required?"

The ensign looked up swiftly. "No, it isn't. I can stop if you'd like. It's just easier for me to determine optimal parameters if I have access to battle data." The whirring spun down and the ensign brought up a scrolling list of sensor logs. "You see, these are the conditions the ship experiences when in combat. Certain ones signal situations in which Voyager outmatches the opponent, while others suggest evidence of Voyager's being in danger. The shields don't have to collapse, or even take damage, for this to be the case. The Botha's attacks are evidence of this: we are obviously in extreme danger and we're operating at full power. However, I can't make an adequate model of all these parameters. It's not in my skillset. I'd need to ask someone in engineering."

Seven began to understand the third of the captain's directions. "You feel inefficient when you are unable to access the computers."

The older woman tilted her head. "Yes, I suppose so. I've gotten used to that extra store of information." She shrugged. "I think that happens with any technology. No one truly appreciated the importance of replicators until they were mostly disabled because of Voyager's energy needs."

The Borg examined the young woman. She looked at the whirring connectors nestled within the mounds of dark, curly hair. Then she examined the arms of the ensign's uniform. The stiff blue and black fabric was slightly perturbed where the raised flesh-colored plugs blocked the interaction ports from view. She moved her blue-eyed gaze to the fidgeting dark hands that idly tapped the console, knowing the digits too held a series of metal implants.

"What will you do when you are no longer able to access the computer in this way?"

The ensign cocked her eyebrow. "Permission to speak freely," she said, her intonation hard to read.

"Granted," replied Seven, curious as to the shift in conversation.

"I don't see how that's particularly relevant, since my disconnection is several months away and right now, we're concentrating on the act of further integration."

"I disagree," was all the Seven said.

The ensign continued, undeterred. "We have discussed my losing the implants, yes, but I won't be completely separated from the computers. Once we've perfected the technology, I will use an indirect interface just as the commander or Ensign Baytart would. I'm guessing I'll be annoyed by how slow it is, but I'll learn to work around it."

Seven let her humanity control the direction of her conversation instead of her Borg logic. "What if you were to be excised completely from the system and not allowed to use the transmitters or any form of direct bioneural connection?"

The Borg was not surprised by the transient look of displeasure that came over the ensign, followed by one that greatly resembled fear.

"I hadn't really thought of that," admitted Ensign Irae. Tense seconds passed and the ensign closed her dark-lashed eyes and tilted her chin up, as if looking for the answers in some mental guide. Seven noticed the older woman fidgeting more with the hardware on her skin as the ensign semi-consciously ran her thumb over their raised surfaces.

When the ensign finally responded, her voice was unsure and cautious. "I've become so accustomed to working directly with the machines. Going back to a manual interaction will feel like being forced to crawl instead of being allowed to run. I would adjust, but it…wouldn't be easy."

"You find this connection pleasurable?"

"I…," the response was still more hesitant. "The computers are…welcoming. They are logical. They do not judge. I feel at peace and part of a whole. And," she added quickly, "I'm many more times efficient working with them that I ever would be on myself so obviously I enjoy it. "

Seven nodded in what she believed was sympathy. "When I was removed from the Collective, there was a period of disorientation. As a drone, I was in constant contact with the Borg. Their thoughts were my thoughts, their senses were my senses, and my awareness was limitless. I was part of trillions of minds and they, in turn, were all part of me." Seven consciously accessed these memories with reluctance and found that they still caused her pain, even after a year. "Once I was separated, I felt lost. And alone."

The half-Trill dark lashes fluttered down once more. "I see," she answered, her voice soft and measured. Seven continued on.

"I believe the captain fears you will experience the same phenomenon even though you will have been engaged far less than I." Seven leaned forward, though she didn't quite know why. "I now agree with her. You will experience that same sense of emptiness and aloneness when you return from immersion within the machine interface."

"What do you suggest I do to prevent it?" The ensign seemed to retreat into her chair, defeated. Seven blinked her eyes. This was not a question she had anticipated. She had believed an explanation was all that was warranted.

"There is no way to avoid it." Seven instantly realized that perhaps she should not have been so harsh or direct.

"So you are advising against my using the connection or merely preparing me for the inevitable distress?" Seven floundered to identify the emotions in the ensign's voice, but the Borg's limited humanity was still deficient when it came to extreme complexity. She fell back to logic.

"There may be ways to mitigate the shock. For the first few weeks after I left the Collective, I spent extensive time with the Doctor and Captain Janeway. The captain's guidance was essential. She helped me recover my humanity and my individuality. Perhaps…"

The ensign's demeanor switched rapidly, professional and certain once more. "No, I believe that is unwise. If there is a superior officer required to deactivate the bioneural interface and assist me afterwards, Commander Chakotay would be the more appropriate choice. After all, he too experienced being disconnected from a Collective and he has been my direct supervisor for some time. "

Seven was instantly curious again. "Yet Captain Janeway helped both Commander Chakotay and I through our individual readjustments and she seems to have a great deal invested in this project. I do not believe the commander has the necessary skills to help you psychologically realign yourself."

The ensign's face went blank. "Nevertheless, I choose commander Chakotay act as the superior officer in this matter." The tone was so absolutely final that Seven knew better than to push any further. Whatever the ensign's reasons, they were not worth the time they would spend arguing over them.

"Very well. We will prepare the final disconnection protocols. Assist engineering afterward. Meanwhile, I will set up the nutrient bypass while you," Seven took a line from her superiors, "get some rest."

Instead of immediately agreeing, the yellow-eyed ensign regarded the Borg. "I would also like you to be present when the machinery disengages. You, more than anyone else, will be able to talk me through it."

Seven was unprepared for the whirl of conflicting emotions and made a note to sort through that sensation when she was less preoccupied with work. Perhaps the Doctor could help her make sense of them.

"I will comply," she answered firmly.

"Thank you," said the older scientist. The connections on her skull whirred to a swirl of blue and green as the ensign consciously reconnected to the computers and sunk herself into her task.

As she watched Mileena immerse herself in the shared mind of the computers, Seven could identify an emotion cleanly: jealousy. Extreme jealousy. Perhaps Seven had not completely recovered from her leaving the Collective after all.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

The mood in the conference room was especially tense and unusually grim. Janeway was used to her crewmembers pulling it all together under extreme conditions, but this time she was only receiving half-measures and partial solutions. Given the circumstances and limitations, it wasn't surprising, but it was nonetheless frustrating to all concerned. A decade of command experience kept her from exposing even the slightest hint of disappointment: her crewmen were already berating themselves. It served no purpose to discourage them further.

Janeway was acutely aware of the precariousness of their tactical position. Voyager was fewer than two hours from the binary star system, having not been allowed to change heading or speed so as not to alert the Botha. The crew was still experiencing interference from the Botha devices, which was crushing both morale and work speed. It was exceptionally hard to stay on task when the alien signal was actively counteracting thought processes and, as Neelix had repeatedly pointed out, it was draining for the crew to distrust their own senses and emotions. With prompting, most of them were able to uncomfortably recall the emotional and physical manipulation by the Botha. The prospect of experiencing those hallucinations weighed heavily on their minds.

Lieutenant Torres did the bulk of the talking. Her voice was strained, graveled, and tired, a reflection of the many consecutive hours she had thrown into all of the projects.

"We've made as many modifications to the structural integrity field emitters as possible. We're arranging for a partial systemic overload of secondary power couplings. Nothing that can't be repaired pretty quickly, of course, but it'll look impressive. That should make Voyager seem to go dark. Then, we'll need about fifteen minutes to put the anti-Botha countermeasures into place."

Janeway could tell that this wasn't something to be pleased about, even though it followed the captain's instructions to the letter. Torres' demeanor was agitated beyond her already tightly-wound baseline and each word sounded like it was being extruded painfully.

"However, there's just not enough energy to maintain that level of screening and the extra hardening of the outer edges of the shields. We'd need to divert power from the warp engines to keep both in place."

"What about a rapid cycling fluctuation so that the structural emitters pulse their interference? That should be enough to disrupt the hallucinations," suggested Janeway.

The half-Klingon shook her head. "We've run some simulations. It's likely we'll burn out the structural integrity field emitters under those circumstances. The emitters are not configured to be toggled on and off that quickly. And if we leave them offline too long, the ship might fall apart. That would leave us trying to cycle patches of the emitters and…" The lieutenant shook her head again. "We don't have the programming or technology in place."

The captain nodded in return. "Very well. Divert the necessary power to the structural integrity emitters. If this plan holds, it won't matter if more devices are attached to the hull." She turned to her young ops officer, whose eyes bore uncharacteristically dark circles. "What about the missing parts of the Botha emitters?"

He looked sheepish. "Ensign Soohoo and I were able to get a basic outline of whatever was held in the divots, but not much beyond physical characteristics. Every time an intact device was beamed aboard, it activated. We destroyed ten of them before deciding not to take any more risks."

Janeway rubbed her jaw. "What do you know?"

"Whatever was housed there was of a similar composition to the crystalline teeth used to anchor the devices to the hull. However, it was probably more compact, with a higher carbon density, and hexagonal instead of pyramidal at its tips." A three-dimensional figure in bright yellow filled the screen of each padd.

"That sounds like a quartz crystal," interrupted Chakotay. "Could it be used as some sort of refracting device?"

"No, harder than quartz," responded Janeway thoughtfully. "A diamond inset, perhaps? Given its position, it could be acting as a data storage unit. Quartz crystal storage was introduced and eventually discarded in the 21st century as quantum processing became more common. The Botha might have found a way to refine it and use diamonds instead."

"The more intricate lattice of the carbon molecules would provide superior data anchoring," replied Chakotay, catching her train of thought. "This might be how the Botha are able to control exactly what we're seeing and remembering. The device is 'reading' the diamonds and adjusting it to our needs."

Janeway rubbed her jaw again. It was a more socially acceptable maneuver than rubbing her temples in frustration and exhaustion. "Diamonds are extremely resistant to trauma, easy to manufacture, and simple to code. We might be able to repurpose some of them to alter the signal at the source." She looked at the mostly bleary eyes of her crewmembers, none of whom looked forward to initiating yet another unfamiliar project. She chose her target carefully.

"Seven, do you think you can look into diamond programming while we're making the modifications to the emitters? I want a backup plan, no matter how remote."

The Borg nodded promptly. Unlike the rest of the room, she bore no traces of tiredness, one of the many benefits of her nanoprobes. "Ensign Irae and I will synthesize several diamonds and attempt to extrapolate their programming from what we know of the Botha's techniques. However, much of her processing power is currently being used to prepare the structural integrity field for its transition."

A prickle went up the back of the captain's neck at the sound of the ensign's name. It was a small involuntary arousal, not enough to disrupt her functioning or logic. It was just a quick reminder of her current, unwanted emotional tie.

"How is the bioneural console interface," said Chakotay, taking over for the captain. "Have you made the necessary adjustments for prolonged use?"

The Borg tapped her padd and sent the schematics to her superiors. "She has only been connected for four hours. Should that time be extended, the dialyzer and feeding mechanisms are in place and have been provided with organic components by Neelix."

The Talaxian smiled through his exhaustion. "I've always wanted to feed Lenurgian meatloaf to the ship! It just can't replicate an accurate version. Not pungent enough."

A withering blue-eyed stare from the captain caused Neelix to cease his culinary discussion as Seven continued. "Software programming has been implemented to account for potential depth of connectivity issues. There is also a manual and automatic override that will allow full connectivity under a discrete set of emergency circumstances, as well as protocols for safely severing contact." The Borg glanced around the table. "I am convinced that the ensign will not take unnecessary risks with this protocol. I have used my judgment."

Janeway perused the criteria. The data were so intricate that she would probably need an explanation by the bioneural console to appreciate them fully, but she agreed with the assessment. That is, until she reached the last few paragraphs.

"Manual override will be performed by Commander Chakotay," she asked carefully. "What does that mean in this context?"

"In cases where automatic and standard disconnection protocols are insufficient, the commander will use the bioneural transmitters to directly speak to the ensign's mind in order to help her internally disengage and begin to transition back to being a single individual," said the Borg blandly.

She paused. "According to the ensign, the computers find the commander's presence soothing, familiar, and trustworthy. We believe he is the logical choice for this task."

Chakotay smiled broadly. "Well, I'm glad I finally made a good impression. Did she say exactly how this would occur?"

Seven of Nine looked uncomfortable. "She said you would know what to do at that time. She trusts your intuition."

Janeway felt a jealous twinge. Hadn't the captain played a pivotal role in reversing Seven's attachment to the Borg? More than that, hadn't the captain seen Mileena in and out of her surgery? Hadn't the captain helped Mileena out of her reverie once she had been taken out of her suspended animation? The memory of that small frame clutching hers in utter devotion gave her an unwelcome thrill. It did not, however, color the rest of her decisions.

"Very well." She turned to her engineering officer. "B'Elanna, I want you to initiate the power failure as soon as you return to engineering. Have the other users of the bioneural interface online and ready. If there's any sort of fluctuation, I want them available to handle it quickly."

It felt more natural to give these orders, though she experienced the same lingering regret as when she asked Seven of Nine to make use of the Borg implants studding her body. There was a cognitive dissonance: the captain had been trying for many months to let Seven regain her humanity, yet in a crisis, those implants became a boon. She made a mental note to talk to Seven later about her feelings on the matter.

With a firm hand, she tapped her communicator. "Ensign Baytart and Ensign Soohoo, please report to the bridge."

They acknowledged her request. At that, Janeway led the rest of her senior officers out of the conference room. The crew returned to their stations and awaited the signal from engineering.

A few moments later, the two ensigns breathlessly swept into the bridge. Soohoo positioned herself next to a grinning Ensign Kim. Had Janeway looked behind her, she would have seen the young female ensign attempt a polite yet icy smile directed at her ops officer. Instead, the captain was focused on the quick discussion between Paris and Baytart as the bioneural console was reconnected to the comm. Baytart slid into place as the older helmsman finished snapping the wires into place.

"Well, good luck ensign," said Paris jovially. "I wish I could steer her through this, but you're the best man for the job right now. Plus, I think it's good for everyone to have a chance to save the princess sometimes."

He turned smartly and Janeway gave him an appreciative nod as he took a position next to Tuvok. Paris' ego might have caused problems in the past, but he had fully taken on the role of mentor to the dark-haired man sitting in front of her.

B'Elanna's voice crackled across the bridge from engineering. "We're ready to begin the adjustments on your mark."

"Do it," replied Janeway.

She felt the ship lurch as it dropped out of warp. Consoles began flickering on and off as the secondary power couplings temporarily shorted out. Even though Torres was controlling the fluctuations, it left the captain uneasy to have her ship being willfully damaged.

Minutes ticked by uneventfully except from the infrequent updates from her technologically-enhanced crewmen. The modifications were going as planned and the structural integrity fields were responding within normal parameters. Chakotay's own transmitters whirling their red and yellow diodes in rapid succession.

"I am monitoring Ensign Irae's connection to the bioneural console. She is holding at 50% gain and able to communicate." She heard a smile creep into his voice. "There is no sign of unusual activity in her neural pathways, though she expects she will need more focus when we turn on the shielding. This is within normal parameters."

"Good," responded Janeway. Normal parameters sounded comfortable, as if this were a natural occurrence on the ship: her second-in-command in a technologically-aided psychic link with a woman who bore so many unexpressed emotions towards the captain. If there were talk along those lines, Chakotay had given no sign. She hoped their chatter, and indeed the communications among everyone on the bioneural network, was strictly work related. The bridge lapsed into silence and precious minutes ticked by again. Then, the lights came back to full power.

"Torres to bridge," came the exhausted voice of the engineer. "We've finished the configurations. Voyager should be ready to leave."

"Good work B'Elanna," said the captain. "Mr. Baytart, take us out of here, maximum warp."

The young man complied and Janeway, relishing the renewed hum of the warp engines. Now, they would be able to continue on their way without fear of another Botha attack interfering with their senses. She hoped Voyager would be able to put enough space between them and the Botha for Voyager to have a chance of escaping before the aliens detected that their prey was no longer heading towards their trap. However, Janeway's plan was quickly thrown into upheaval by the insistent voice of Harry Kim.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

"Captain, I'm detecting something on short range scanners near the star system. We couldn't see it before, but now that the transmitters are off-line, I'm able to get an accurate reading of what is surrounding the star system."

"Onscreen, Mr. Kim," said Janeway, and walked towards the helm.

Outside the orbit of one of the planets was what appeared to be a densely packed asteroid field. With dawning horror, the bridge crew realized those asteroids were a floating field of ships tethered to small platforms that must have served as their dock. Some showed signs of damage, but many were merely stripped of their plating or engines. The vast majority were underpowered, though she could see the telltale glow of an active warp drive on a handful. Chakotay recognized some of them. Cataati. Enaran. Kazon. Talaxian. There was even a small Borg sphere hovering among them, circling end over end in concert with silent vessels it might otherwise have destroyed.

"How many," said Chakotay, his voice strained. He stood and walked beside her, matching her solemn expression with one of his own. Even without a precise count, he could tell that this represented years, maybe decades, of manipulation by the Botha.

"We've counted 1,531 so far from at least 100 species."

"Life signs," asked Tuvok.

"On a handful of ships, but they're fluctuating," Harry Kim replied. "We're not able to get a good read on which ships are still active, but there are a few."

The bridge shared a moment of disquiet before Janeway spoke with controlled anger. "When we first encountered the Botha, I thought the manipulation of our minds was merely an attempt to gain Voyager's superior armament. But it seems the Botha have built their civilization by bending other races to their will. Like the Borg, but more insidious."

Chakotay looked into the field of ships. He knew that on some of those vessels, hallucinating crewmembers waited for their execution by the Botha, trapped like flies within the web of the Botha's psychogenic field. Through the shared connection between him and Mileena, which had been quiet for the past few moments, he felt a surge of anger. She was obviously reading the sensor output and was as inflamed as it by everyone else on the bridge.

"Should we attempt a rescue," he said. He hoped the Captain would support him, as her dedication towards sparing innocent life was as fierce, and maybe even more so, than his own.

"I highly advise against it," counseled Tuvok from behind them. "As it is, Voyager is barely able to block the constant transmission by the Botha. It is likely the tethered ships have some sort of psychogenic field booster to maintain the hallucinations of whatever crew remains on board."

"But there are survivors," demanded Paris. "We can't just leave them there."

Janeway raised firm, but not unkind palm. "I understand your sentiment, lieutenant. At the same time, I agree with Tuvok's assessment. There is no good way for us approach the shipyard without running the risk of being recaptured."

The two bioneural-enhanced crewmembers had been silent until throughout this discussion, but it was Baytart who responded to Janeway.

"I believe, Captain, that we can bolster the crew's resistance to the hallucinations by further integrating the bioneural technology into the ship. If we train more personnel on the bioneural transmitters, we may be able to provide enough interference to overcome a stronger psychogenic field."

Chakotay had attempted to listen in on the conversation, but he found the input overwhelming. The two ensigns were much more practiced in interacting with Mileena. Without her directly talking to him, all he could sense were strong emotions. The rest of the data was like trying to understand a conversation held behind a sealed door.

"How long would that take," asked Paris, excitedly. "And if it worked, could Mileena support that many individuals connected to her network?"

Chakotay envisioned the crew tethered together by the shared, experimental technology, like a Federation version of the Borg. But instead of the Borg Queen, the center of their collective would be Mileena. It was not sure how he felt even though he knew the young woman would be far more benevolent than any member of the Borg could hope to be. To be honest, the only woman he wanted to trust in that way was the captain; it was a sentiment he suspected the rest of the ship would share.

Baytart did not respond. Instead, he looked over at Chakotay. At that moment, Mileena began feeding Chakotay a very clear, somewhat simplified version of what she was talking about with the ensigns. Apparently, she created a method of conveying information without overwhelming the commander's limited ability to understand her. He sent a tiny ping of thanks.

Chakotay continued, "According to the schematics I'm seeing, it would depend on the individual crewmembers, but most could probably attune to the machinery in the next 24 hours if we modified the protocol for quicker cortical learning." Another burst of careful information was sent over the communicator. "Mileena said that she might be able to speed up the process if the crew were willing to use the direct interface. In addition…"

Although Janeway would have stepped in, it was Seven who stopped the conversation. "That would be inefficient. It would be better for key crew members to become more proficient than to attempt a low level of competence across the ship."

Conversation on hypotheticals was interrupted by the de-cloaking of massive ship in front of Voyager. It bore the same general shape as the robotic vessels that had attacked Voyager in the past, but it was easily four times as large. Apparently, Voyager's ruse had been discovered.

"Red alert," said Chakotay, standing next to captain.

As the lights flashed around them and the klaxon sounded, Janeway stated "Ensign Baytart, initiate evasive maneuver Delta two." The ship banked impossibly hard and dodged a blast of phaser fire. "Mister Kim, fire a full spread of photon torpedoes."

Chakotay knew the Captain would ordinarily try diplomacy before launching an all-out attack, but the outcome of negotiating with the Botha had been unilaterally detrimental to Voyager. The time for talking was over.

"Six photon torpedoes hit," reported Tuvok. "No significant damage to the Botha ship."

Before Janeway could give the order, Voyager once again lurched and another orange beam lanced where the ship had been.

"Apologies, Captain, but the computer perceived the energy discharge and reacted faster than I could convey to you." Ensign Baytart sounded genuinely perturbed. He hadn't expected to lose control of his station to the unknown controller on deck five. "There's been a sudden increase in connectivity and responsiveness. About ten percent."

Chakotay would need to have a long talk about acceptable command of the ship in a combat situation, but for the moment he focused on attempting to disable or destroy the attacker. They were clearly outgunned and, with the extra drain on the shields, Voyager might not be able to withstand a direct hit from the Botha. Chakotay knew the Captain would be loath to abandon the other ships to their fate even though she knew how slim the chances of rescuing the crew were.

"Ideas," she demanded. Chakotay felt a massive burst of information attempt to come through the transmitter but it overwhelmed him and then withdrew, almost apologetically. So it was Ensign Soohoo who responded to the captain.

"Captain, Ensign Irae has detected a structural weakpoint at the base of their port weapons array. She believes if we were to fire a spread of photon torpedoes at the ship while directing a stream of phaser fire at that location, we might be able to overload their weapons system."

Janeway turned to her tactical officer, who nodded his assent. "Do it," she ordered.

Voyager turned sharply once more and launched the attack. A few moments later, a series of small explosions rocked the Botha vessel.

"They are hailing us, Captain," stated Mr. Kim. "Should I ignore them?" Chakotay was surprised at the unusually harsh tone in the ensign's otherwise gentle, even reticent voice. There was something profoundly violating about an enemy who used your own mind against you. It conjured a certain anger that might otherwise be hidden.

"No, Mr. Kim. Answer their hail."

The viewscreen flashed to life and the interior of an angular, orange drenched bridge replaced the view of the damaged ship. The gray cowled, wrinkled face of the Botha captain glowered back at them. Chakotay recognized him immediately: it was the same Botha attacker who had tormented Voyager so many years ago at the start of their journey. How the alien had made it back to this part of the Delta quadrant briefly troubled Chakotay, but then the commander remembered that the Botha had never truly been there. Perhaps the network of ships and satellites that enabled the Botha's control extended all the way back to the Caretakers satellite. He set his square jaw as the Captain moved forward, her blue grey eyes flashing dangerously and her lips pulled back into the polite approximation of a snarl.

"Kathryn Janeway," the Botha spat. "What an unexpected surprise. I had hoped Voyager might return so that we could finish our…"

"That's enough," replied the Captain in a low, dangerously growling tone. "I don't care what you want or who you really are. Voyager is leaving this sector. You will not follow us. You will not attempt to take over our minds again."

"Really, Captain," said the Botha with a grin. "And how do you propose you're going to do that?"

"We have found a way to neutralize your control. It doesn't matter how many ships you send after us or how many transmitters you beam onto our hull. We are immune to your tricks." Chakotay watched her body language, as she bent like a lioness getting ready to bring down her prey with a final strike.

"And make no mistake. We intend to spread this knowledge to every race we encounter so you will never trap another ship. Free the ships you are holding and let us go or we will destroy your vessel and leave the floating debris as a warning."

The Botha scowled and the screen went dark.

Chakotay let go of the breath he didn't know he was holding. The Captain turned from her place at the front of the bridge and sat down in her chair, staring ahead with absolute determination.

"Mr. Kim, report. Has the Botha ship released the other vessels?"

"Yes Captain," replied the young man. "Five ships are leaving the derelict shipyard." He waited another moment. "They've engaged their warp engines and are heading away from the system."

Chakotay watched Janeway let out a long breath that mirrored his own. "Any residual sign of psychogenic interference?"

"No, Captain," stated the Ensign. "The shield modulations are holding and the transmitters on the hull seem to be slowly deactivating."

"Excellent job," she answered. "Mr. Baytart, set course 192 mark 43, warp 6. Then, you are relieved of duty. I want you to immediately report to Sickbay." The tall, dark ensign slid uneasily out of his seat as Tom Paris clapped him gently on the shoulder, sat down at the comm, and carefully began dismantling the bioneural interface. Chakotay had carefully removed his skull transmitters and was rubbing his head thoughtfully.

"Do you need to be excused as well," the captain asked him gently.

"It's just a bit of a headache," he reassured her. "I told the others to take off their contacts as well. I think they all received the message."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Janeway tapped her communicator. "Bridge to proteomics. Ensign Irae, please respond." A few seconds passed and the captain's heart quickened. She had hoped disengaging the rest of her crew from the bioneural interface would be enough to initiate the ensign's own disconnection. She shook her head. They would need to use a manual override.

The commander was a step ahead of her. "Captain, I'm going to proteomics to start the protocol. It shouldn't take long."

"I know. Tuvok, you have the bridge. Chakotay, you're with me."

The tall Vulcan nodded and moved to the captain's chair as she and the commander went down to deck four.

Predictably, proteomics was locked down, forcefields in place, and decontamination procedures enabled. Janeway paced as the commander quickly overrode the security system, allowing them to enter the rebuilt outer lab.

Ensign Irae was sitting in the heavy chair, her body fully engaged in the bioneural uplink through her arms and hands. Her dark eyes were closed, though Janeway could see the pupils moving rapidly back and forth beneath them. From her post, she was whispering something to herself, which was causing CRE to beep and whir in return.

Janeway nodded towards Chakotay, who approached the secondary monitor outside of the forcefield. He tapped the console a few times, then stood back. CRE's calm voice broke otherwise mechanical noise of the lab.

"Command confirmed. Initiating disconnection sequence."

Obligingly, the apparatus retracted from the ensign's body and began its auto-sterilization. The fluttering motion of the ensign's eyes slowed until the young woman was completely relaxed. In fact, she seemed almost meditative. Janeway involuntarily held her breath; it was still possible that the young woman could have been affected by the most recent Botha attack, especially after Baytart's warning about the increase in connectivity he had sensed prior to the shields coming back online.

"Captain Janeway," acknowledged the ensign, "I take it your plan worked well?" Her voice had begun to shake off the distant tone that was present whenever the young…older woman, Janeway corrected herself…interfaced with the machine. She seemed unharmed and Janeway unclenched that place in her gut that seemed reserved for the ensign's well-being.

"Yes, it did," confirmed Janeway. "However, Ensign Baytart registered a greater than expected sensitivity in the bioneural console and worried that you had descended into the machine. You stopped responding to hails."

The half-Trill unfurled her luxurious limbs and stretched sinuously before beginning her post-connection cleansing protocol. Janeway watched the beautiful woman maneuver around her station. The sway of her hips, the lightness of her footsteps, and the bounce of her hair all captivated Janeway. How could something as simple as walking trigger this kind of reaction?

"I needed to transiently increase gain above usual levels," admitted the half-Trill. "However, I stayed well within the parameters set by Seven of Nine and Commander Chakotay."

"I appreciate your restraint, ensign, though we need to have a long talk about taking command of the ship out from under the bridge crew, no matter how effective it might be," replied the lieutenant standing nearby. "If you'll excuse me, captain, I need to oversee the removal of the remaining transmitters from the hull."

Janeway nodded and watched her officer leave just as the dark-haired woman affixed the last of her plugs into her implants and commanded the computer to drop the forcefields. The ensign stepped into the outer room and walked up to the captain, standing just a few centimeters from the younger woman's ivory face and scintillating blue eyes. Janeway involuntarily tensed at her sudden nearness, but the ensign seemed unperturbed.

"Captain, thank you for coming to check on me," she said, her breath warm against the captain's cheek.

"Of course, ensign. I was worried that...that you had..."

Janeway suddenly found it very hard to speak as the ensign's dark pink lips brought themselves to the side of the captain's neck and began to gently kiss upwards towards the curve of her ear.

"Kathryn, I know why you're here," she whispered between kisses, her voice alluring and strong in its desire. "You could have sent anyone, but you are here. You wanted to see me, so you're here. You know we can't dance around this any longer. It's taking too much from both of us."

Her mouth resumed its sensual trip down to the nape of the captain's neck, raising goosebumps along the moist trail. Janeway fought desperately for control. This was a combat situation. She was in a work space. They were on duty. She should be on the bridge. This was wrong. This was absolutely wrong.

All of her protestations, though, were slipping away in the raw pleasure of this mere kiss. She groaned and involuntarily arched herself upwards to give the scientist more access to her body. Janeway felt a rush of wetness between her thighs, a strong arousal the likes of which she had not felt since they left the alpha quadrant. Her knees almost buckled from desire, causing the ensign to wrap her arms around Janeway and keep her upright.

"We should go to your quarters," said Mileena, a smile on her full, curving lips. "I think you're going to want to be lying down for the rest of this."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Mileena's eyes all but stopped seeing the outside world as she drifted farther along the convoluted bioneural pathways. She was caught up inside the whirling computational framework of the sensor arrays and corresponding outputs. Everything was wildly off-balance. She guessed the Botha ship that had appeared just a few moments ago had managed to override the modified shielding and her own connections with the crew. They were now adrift.

With no one officially at the helm, the machines that ran Voyager were on an uneasy autopilot, simultaneously aware of the attack but unable to respond. She tried to coordinate them, at least until she could bring the other crewmembers back from their reveries, but it hadn't succeeded. More distressing was that she could feel the world bending around her as the bioneural inputs were slowly encroached upon by the Botha's psychic attack.

"Hello, Mileena," said the not-entirely-unexpected voice.

"Hello, Datossel," stated Mileena, not letting a centimeter of emotion approach her tone.

"Did you miss me," the voice said, its question tinged with amusement.

"No, not really," replied the wiry scientist. "But you know that."

The half-Trill's eyes hadn't focused on the voice, but she saw its origin nonetheless. A stocky Talarian woman, just a bit taller than Mileena herself, leaned against the edge of CRE. The thick padded ridges of the hallucination's armor rustled as it took a step forward and took the scientist's chin gently in one gloved hand. The ruddy, convoluted brow ridges, framed by neatly-styled short brown hair, bent themselves completely into Mileena's view. Just as vivid as on that picture on her altar, the hallucination of her wife came into view.

The scientist within the chair felt her head being tilted up with increasing pressure, even as she knew her body was immobile, her head locked into place by the apparatus, and this experience a complete hallucination.

"I don't understand why you would behave so poorly towards your wife," said the Talarian hallucination, running its glossy thumb along Mileena's curving jaw line. "Especially after so many years apart."

Mileena had been trained well enough that she didn't flinch or flush at the unwanted touch. Instead, she propelled her mind into the computers, trying to manipulate them as well as she could while keeping her consciousness above the din of the machinery. It was a fine line to walk and she found herself talking to keep herself from slipping into the computer network.

"You're not my wife, Datossel, not anymore. And even if you were, you're not actually here."

The imposing Talarian hallucination released its grasp and combed it thick fingers into the ensign's curly hair, seemingly ignoring the response. Then, it let her hands wander down Mileena's blue-clad body. The hallucination with Datossel's face inspected the visible rings of the implants on the top of Mileena's arms and carefully prodded the biological conduit that curled out of her torso and into the nearby console. Its touch was inquisitive and intimate without being invasive, which gave Mileena little comfort. At any moment, its lovely mood would shift capriciously. It was best never to relax.

"So strange, this adornment, Tas'Te-aleena," observed the hallucination. "Almost to rival mine. When you come back, I will have yet another trophy to display. My wife, the hybrid machine, first in the Federation." Her tone was that deliberately uncomfortable mixture of admiration, insult, and threat. "I wonder how much prestige you will bring us?"

"You will gain nothing, Datossel. I am not your trophy. I am not going back to Talar. And I am not your wife," she said, wishing she could spit the words from a furious mouth, but instead settling on a cool, flat, scientist's demeanor

The voice chuckled. "Is that so." It pressed a hand onto Mileena's chest and trailed its fingers with possessive familiarity along the swell of her breasts, up the side of her neck, until it finally placed a single digit on Mileena's lips, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The voice bent closer, passing impossibly through the machinery that encased the scientist, until it was hissing its message into the curves of Mileena's ear.

"My sweet Tas'Te-aleena. It's a good thing that I know you as well as I do. I know exactly what it is you want. And what you need."

The hallucination was becoming frustrating to suppress. The Botha had clearly refined their techniques between the first and second attacks. Previously, she had easily shrugged off any sensory imposition. Now, though, it was taking far more effort to screen out Datossel...the hallucination...and she was losing processing cycles to it.

"Go away, Datossel. I have work to do. There is nothing you can do for me. I have everything I want and everything I need."

The voice whispered one word. "Liar." And then again, louder and with righteous anger, "Liar!" It hurled itself backwards and pounded its fist into the side of CRE with a resounding thud of bending metal. The voice had made the inevitable transition from one passion to another, and for that, Mileena was glad. The latter was much easier to deal with.

"Have I done so little for you that you would disgrace me with a lie? I rescued you from your little hovel? Took you into my home. Provided you with companionship. Gave you everything you asked for. Loved you with the heat of a thousand suns." Another thud as the metal supposedly crunched beneath the Talarian hallucination's clenched fist.

"All I asked was that keep your oaths to me, Mileena. Nothing more. I didn't even ask for your fidelity when you abandoned me in Talar. Yet here you are, lying to me and to yourself. You have nothing you want. You have nothing you need."

Once again, the voice approached, only this time it brought its hand with great velocity across the ensign's face. The contacts on her skull ached as they were bent out of position by the force of the imaginary blow. Mileena took in a sharp breath, but didn't exhale until the counter-coup was landed. She felt the blood vessels rupture and begin leaking their contents into the interstitial tissues around her eyes and nose. Had this actually been occurring, she mused, she would have had a medium level black eye to explain away. Another hit, this time angled so that a patch of skin on Mileena's cheek came away on one of Datossel's medals. That might scar until they found someone to lend yet another dermal regenerator.

The voice bent low again and growled in her ear. "All your fancy equipment, Tas'Te-aleena, and you still can't get away from me. You're trapped by your pretty little machine, unable to fight back, unable to defend yourself. You're pathetic. Weak." It spat at her and Mileena felt the saliva run down her face, mingling with the tiny droplets of blood streaming from her nostrils.

She didn't answer. She didn't even tremble. In some ways, the hallucination was easier to ignore than its living template; this caricature doled out its cruelty too coarsely and without the concurrent affection that made it so much harder to bear. This was the Datossel she liked to picture, the raging violent monster who invaded her bed, not the reality of the complex woman with whom she'd willingly shared her life.

She let the ranting continue as best she could, trying to manipulate the shields into a frequency that would hold off the Botha's relentless attack. The hallucination was too distracting, though. She gritted her teeth and willed herself further still. Why weren't the others responding? She could feel their consciousness adrift in the network, but the signal she was transmitting wasn't powerful enough to completely overcome the Botha's interference. Dammit.

"Even that spineless captain recognizes how worthless you are. It's no wonder she won't look you in the face. And you want her in your bed? Ridiculous. No one will love you, Tas'Te-aleena," it snarled. "Not like I do. You know that's true. It's why I'm here." Another slap jarred Mileena's head so hard her ears rang.

Mileena summoned her voice, more to reassure herself than to respond to the hallucination.

"You are here because a group of aliens has decided to cripple the crew of Voyager with psychic projections. You are the most effective way to draw my attention from my work. You always have been. But what they don't understand is that this is one of the more mediocre beatings you've administered to me, Datossel. Try harder," she grunted through gritted, bloody teeth.

The voice laughed loudly. "No, my sweet little scientist, you're still wrong. I'm only here because you still love me. If you didn't, I wouldn't stand a chance."

That blow landed more soundly that any others that the Talarian had provided. That was it, wasn't it? Even after however many years of abuse, five years of distance from the alpha quadrant, a divorce request, a half-dozen lovers and her current obsession, that thin flame of affection had never quite gone out, no matter how hard she tried to smother it. She still loved her wife. She probably always would.

Mileena slumped, defeated, into the bindings of the heavy chair. Then, she bowed her head as best she could within the confines of her equipment. The rivulets of blood were crusting uncomfortably on her face and the oppressive nearness of her wife was making her excruciatingly aware her increasing powerlessness. She couldn't keep the hallucinations at bay long enough to rescue Voyager, not as long as the Botha knew her heart. There was no other choice.

She targeted the automatic disengagement protocol and with a swift pattern of thought, conveyed that she believed the ship was in danger. It did not fault; the ship knew they were in danger. Through the pattern of bioneural synapses between her and ship's computer, Mileena found the protocol's representation, then shattered it. She was now free do to as she required without being disturbed.

Datossel spoke again, mixing her voice with that of the unseen Botha controller.

"Yes, sweetheart. Do what you always do. Run away into your brilliant mind," she mocked. "You can go as far as you like. Just remember that you are, and will always be, mine."

In unison, Datossel and Mileena gave the command, "Computer, ramp to 100% gain on my mark." Mileena breathed in, but it was Datossel who spoke, a whisper full of malice and anticipation. "See you later, my beautiful wife."

"Mark," was all that Mileena answered. Her consciousness was mercifully washed away by the loving embrace of the twin computers.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Pablo Baytart knew something was wrong. It had been wrong since the first blast wave from the Botha ship, the one that supposedly was a warning shot. The one that engineering had supposedly dampened with their shield modulations. The one that sent the captain into negotiations with the Botha and concluded with Voyager leaving the system. The one that ended with the captain directing ops and tactical towards their tasks, paging Tom Paris to take over for Ensign Baytart as usual. That had been the information from his eyes and ears, at least.

The problem was that the machine at his fingertips was telling a very different story. Voyager hung suspended in midair, engulfed in power fluctuations. Two ships had emerged besides the larger Botha vessel. At least two. There were...he couldn't get a lock on the information. It was bobbing and weaving around his consciousness. If he tried hard enough, he could overcome the hallucination that was beginning to surround him, but it was excruciatingly difficult.

Flashes of naked flesh and warm conversation lured him from his task. Was it Lauren? Was it Mileena? Was it Alice? Was it any number of young women whom he loved and lusted after? Was he finally in command of his own vessel? Someone was calling his name and he had to keep from turning around. If he left his station, he would be as lost as the crewmembers around him.

That had happened the last time the Botha took over. One moment, he was doing calibrations on a shuttlecraft and the next, he was soaring across an uncharted nebula, dodging Cardassian fighters and winding his expert way through a mine field. It had been fantastic, at least, until he came crashing out of his fantasy and into the unfortunate reality of an otherwise empty shuttlebay.

Concentrate, he said through gritted teeth. Drive forward. He clenched his eyes closed and desperately wanted to block his ears. Anything to reduce the erroneous information streaming through his useless physical senses. He wished desperately that he'd been allowed to make a deeper biological connection with the bioneural interface, but respecting the captain's will now left him at a significant disadvantage. He couldn't act. He couldn't communicate. All he could do was hold on to his console and hope that he found a way out.

There was a searing ache in his head that barely competed with the feeling of hands running along his back and a computer calling out a proximity warning. He exhaled heavily and opened his eyes again. Everything was doubled and everything was blurry. Suddenly, though, the hallucinations were easier to screen out. He found his voice, hoarse and soft.

"Bridge to anyone listening. Please respond."

"Ensign Baytart," said the Doctor. "Welcome back. What is your status?"

With tremendous effort, the ensign crawled mentally through his console through the haze of interference. Everything was online, but completely malfunctioning. Sensory inputs were being routed nowhere, engine readings were being ignored, and the helm was trying to respond to his aimless, hallucination-addled commands. He stilled his body and found his words again.

"I am attached to the bridge. The ship is intact and I'm holding position." He paused as a pulse of hallucination broke over him. "Is there any way to reduce the delusions?"

"I assume Ensign Irae is working to manipulate the transponders so that they are a more compelling stimulus than the delusions. However, I have lost contact with her."

Pablo looked through his connections. Other than Mileena, he was the one most able to manipulate the bioneural gel at a physical, almost instinctive, level. He couldn't race along the conduits from where he was now, but he could query just deep enough to see her consciousness. It was a struggling yellow light entrapped within a dark grey morass. Circuits ran to and from the pulsing center, realigning themselves at lightning speeds.

"She's alive and working," replied Baytart absently. "But you're right. Someth-"

As he watched, the grey cover on the orb was ripped away. The nexus blazed before him and unexpectedly, the hallucinations all but vanished. He could feel Mileena, now, as if she were wrapped around his body and chatting with him. It was an enjoyable and deeply troubling sensation.

"Ensign, I'm not sure if you can still hear me," said the Doctor. "I authorize you to take whatever action you think necessary to assure Voyager's safety. I'm sending you reinforcements as they come online."

The comm went dead and Ensign Baytart was left with a bridge full of silent crewmembers, their identical gazes focused on the blank screen in front of him. He shivered, then returned to his console. Somehow, he had to get control of the ship without alerting the Botha that anyone was still conscious.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

It had been so long since Lauren had been on a hunt. The planet below the platforms held very little game, but that didn't keep her family cluster from beaming down to the equator and riding for hours across the land. She felt the rippling haunches of the horse between her legs and the biting wind across the few bits of flesh her fur-lined hood had left exposed. Leaning forward, she urged the beast faster; with a leap, she surpassed her sister and made a rude gesture as she pushed forward. Jessica gave a laugh that was a half-snarl and quickly matched Lauren's pace, with Kro'mal and Whar coming up to flank their friend. They held their _gin'tak _spears in their offhands and shouted at Lauren that she'd become soft in her years in Starfleet. In Klingon, Lauren questioned their parentage.

Whar and Jessica sprinted ahead, as was their custom. Their love had grown since she'd been away. Had they married already or had they waited for her? Lauren didn't know; there just hadn't been time to ask. In between thoughts, her head filled with a dull, incessant pounding; something familiar and incredibly unwelcome. The trim young woman pulled her horse back to a slow trot and shook it off. Then, she tilted her head up towards familiar stars; even obscured by an eternal cloud cover, they were welcome unseen reminders of her being home. Tiny drifts of snow caught in her eyelashes and the scent of burning peat filled her nostrils. The group must be approaching a camp. It wasn't unheard of for a less-fortunate exile to bide his time on the surface, waiting for his luck to change.

She turned to Kro'mal, who had been riding silently beside her. "Do you k-"

She fell to the snow as he backhanded her with the _gin'tak_ in his hand. Her horse bolted away as she lay on the ground, trying to catch her breath; she'd broken a rib or two, but that was nothing compared to what he was going to feel in just a few minutes. A pounding, rhythmic thud passed through her head once again and she gave a grunt of pain before rolling away to avoid the next strike. She grabbed her own weapon and thrust it towards Kro'mal's torso. He stepped aside easily, caught the spear, and broke it over his massive knee.

Then, he grabbed her by her collar and lifted her up to his height. She fought the air; how had he gotten so strong, so tall? The rippling and familiar ridges of his head were covered by his hood, as were his broad nose and growling teeth. All she saw were his eyes, blue-black and full of rage.

"Lauren Powell. You dishonor my memory and you dishonor your people. This fantasy is an unworthy pursuit for a member of my family." He threw her into the snow, which absorbed a few flecks of her blood into light pink stains.

She rose to one knee, confused, and blinked her eyes. He was never like this. He'd always been good to her, even when she left him behind to join Starfleet. To join...Voyager. She blinked again and looked at his now-uncovered face. The pounding returned. She looked around her as the snow blurred into a hazy grey morass; the familiar smell of earth was cut with the metallic scent of a ship's engine room. Her head tilted up once more. 

Kro'mal's gaze had turned solemn, yet no less fierce, and he gave her one of those inscrutable Klingon nods. From out of his parka he drew a _d'k tahg_, which he tossed beside her. She picked it up by its worn leather pommel and gripped it tightly in a gloved hand. She rose to her full height, still almost a half-meter below him, and took in his face one more time, memorizing every crevice before she left this place. His form was distorting as much as the snow, his voice as far away as the pounding had been.

"Finish it, Lauren. Defend your honor." She gave no human response, no weeping or wincing. Without hesitation, she drove the blade in between his ribs and he smiled.

She blinked once more and looked around. Engineering was full of standing statues, frozen in place by Botha hallucinations. The pounding in her head was one of those infernal dance tunes that Mileena forced her to enjoy...but broadcast directly into her consciousness? Lauren tapped her scalp and felt the transponders there. She reached out mentally and felt a tendril of Mileena's mind, otherwise entwined with CRE and the ship's computer, gently touch Lauren's consciousness.

Lauren saw the snow scene wavering before her once again, but she did not immerse herself in the hallucination. Ignoring it as best she could, she tapped her communicator. "Lauren Powell to Voyager. Is anyone there? Please respond."

"Ensign Powell, this is the Doctor," said the hologram. "I'm glad you're with us. Ensign Baytart is attempting to regain control of Voyager. The rest of the crew appears to be still hallucinating. You are the only remaining option for discovering a method for screening the Botha's attack."

Lauren gritted her teeth at the hologram's subtly insulting tone. "Yes, Doctor. I will use the bioneural interface to bolster the shield modulations. We may be able to reduce the effects enough for people to disengage from the hallucinations on their own."

"Very well, Ensign." He terminated the comm link and left Lauren to dive into the bioneural network and determine, with her unseen friends' help, just what they could do to save Voyager from itself. She imagined Kro'mal's face again, his dagger dripping blood and his face a scowl, and she smiled. The Botha didn't know they had given her exactly what she needed to survive.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Alice felt her lover surge within her and she arched her head back, relishing the sensation of being filled so completely, so utterly, so possessively. She looked down at Pablo, who reached out a calm brown hand and cupped one of her breasts within it. He scraped one curved fingernail lightly across her skin and she gave a happy sigh, then rocked once more against his manhood. He moaned happily, gripped her hips, and thrust again.

They'd been making love for what seemed like hours. No, like breathless, wonderful days. Beneath them, a lush jungle planet orbited tantalizingly. There'd been an expedition to a new, warp-capable civilization at the edge of the alpha and beta quadrant. Her team had spent the last two weeks poring through databanks and carefully interviewing citizenry while Pablo was off doing…whatever it was the Federation was making him do near Klingon space. She didn't particularly care.

They barely had time to see each other in between missions, but he'd managed to score a bit of shore leave, giving her time to luxuriate in his embrace and let him convey his love with every touch and caress. It had been an especially long separation this time and his ministrations were more welcome than usual.

Pablo kissed her. "I miss you when you're on assignment, you know that?" He growled possessively in her ear and nibbled on it. "It is wonderful flying sorties back and forth, but it means I don't get to have you in my bed nearly as often as we both want."

She laughed at him and let it turn to a moan as he stimulated her sensitive flesh. "Yes, well, do you want to sit around in a shuttlecraft while I'm chatting with the natives?"

He stopped moving and looked at her solemnly. "If I said yes, would you accept it?" He shifted slightly and clasped one of his hands around hers. "If I said you meant more than any mission I've been allowed to fly, would you believe me?"

She looked down with slightly tearing eyes. "Do you mean that, my heart?" She gripped his dark knuckles tightly and he nodded, his eyes also brimming with emotion. The years on Voyager and all the false starts between lovers, the time together that had been always so sparse and never enough, finally coming to this thing. What she always wanted.

She paused and looked down at him. No, she realized. This is not what she always wanted. She had promised herself, in the middle of yet another interminable data interpretation session, that she would never make her life's work the collection of ancient remains from meaningless cultures. She wanted to create new monuments to art. She wanted to exercise the intellect and talent she had been hiding beneath the blue uniform she wore so reluctantly. No matter how beautiful the planet nor how sumptuous her lover, this was not what she wanted.

"Pablo, I can't accept. I can't be this woman that you want me to be. In fact, I don't even think you are what you want to be."

His dark face creased with confusion and sadness. "Don't you love me? Is this not enough? We can stop traveling. We can…"

"No, it's not that. This is not real. This is a hallucination, one beautiful glimpse of the future I might have considered once upon a time. But now we need to break free, you and I. We need to become what we really are. I don't know if you sharing this with me or if this is truly the world of my own making, but I need to go.

He reached out his hand once again to caress the side of her face, his dark, thick fingers tracing the outline of her chin and up the bridge of her nose until he dragged them down to rest on her thin lips. "I will always support you, Alice. I will always be what you need me to be. I love you. Go."

She closed her eyes and focused on the self that was not herself, the distant thread of the bioneural gel that fed itself into her skull transmitters. The room began to twist and Pablo became more and more distant. A pounding filled her head and she let out a disappointed groan. It was Mileena's favorite song, one that made Alice want to vomit if the half-Trill turned up the volume too high. Alice dismounted Pablo, waved goodbye to his beautiful naked body even as he reached fruitlessly towards her, and blinked her eyes a few times.

She was still on the bridge, surrounded with the silent and still forms of her commanding crew. In front of her, Pablo waved back and forth, muttering to himself and twitching his head back and forth, deeply in communication with the bioneural gel. Alice closed her eyes and felt Mileena working furiously in the computer pathways. The half-Trill took notice and gave Alice a mental smile, as well as an apology for the interruption, before dropping back into the machines. Alice opened them again and smiled, then tapped her communicator and sought out Lauren. Together, they would find a way to escape all of this.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

The computer that was Mileena was frustrated. She could hear the little programs, the people-things, who knew her best, and they could sing back to her, but the ones who she had so recently brought into her network were still too far away. She let her CRE-self and her main computer-self take over for a moment; they could guide the ship and had for so long. She expanded her mind once more to find the bioneural gel that clicked into the transmitters on those little far off nodes, nodes that she once called her fellow crewmembers.

She filled the nodes with electricity, and felt them once again, come online. Then, she retreated and considered the ship's function. Her shields were buckling and surging from the Botha attack. They observed the tiny pinpricks of data passing through them and judged them detrimental to the functioning of the lives the computers protected. There was a way, they knew, to screen the data out. More than that. There was a way to change the devices and turn them away. It was their duty to protect their crew. It was their ship.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

"Tom? Tom," called B'Elanna.

She was walking through an empty corridor on some ship or another. She didn't recognize the technology: the panels were largely dark, though one or two lit up as she passed. She didn't recognize the language or the consoles, though she knew instinctively she could control them.

But she didn't want to touch this ship. Its angles were all wrong. It wasn't organic like the Borg, wild and primal like a Klingon bird of prey, and precise and clean like a Federation ship. The walls sloped sharply and without pattern while the ceiling would unexpectedly drop, enough that she had to stoop, while in others it open to cavernous halls, all empty. All silent.

She knew that Tom had brought her here so they could try out his new technology. He had built it for her. He had given it to her. It was a gift. But she couldn't remember what it was. She couldn't remember why they were here or where they were. It was just corridor after corridor, empty hall after empty hall.

"Tom? Tom," she said once again. "Tom, this isn't funny." Her steps quickened, even though she had no destination. Keeping moving was better than staying still she suspected she had passed this particular triangle before.

She heard his voice from around the corridor, but it was muffled. He spoke again and she turned a corner and sprinted towards the door in front of her. Predictably, she realized, it opened and closed too quickly for her to make it through. She banged on it with a closed fist and shouted his name. He responded again and this time the door opened, long enough for her to get through, before slamming closed and melting away.

"Lana," he croaked.

He was suspended in a tube of yellow liquid, tendrils of flesh and metal entwining around his limbs as if he were encased in Borg apparatus. She rushed towards him, a furious and terrified howl emitting from her lips. She pounded on the glass in rage, which cracked under each heavy blow. Liquid began to seep out through the cracks and burn her fingers.

"Computer, end program," said the voice of her husband behind her. "B'Elanna, what the hell are you doing."

Suddenly, they were standing in the holodeck. Tom looked at her, no longer coated fluid. In fact, he looks surprisingly dry as he stood there in his daily uniform. "I was trying to model a better way of interfacing with the bioneural gel. I figure if we use the suspended bioneural substance and allow it to surround the person, it'll be less traumatic and more efficient. That way, we all might be able to connect to the console without any sort of external hardware."

"Yeah, well, I don't like it. We're not the Borg here Tom. We're Starfleet. And I don't like being forced to work with this material any more than the captain or anybody else."

"I like it," said Tom sulkily. "And I think the rest of you are being ridiculous. We haven't had this kind of tech in so long B'Elanna. Imagine what we could do if we were a little bit more like the Borg and a little bit less like Starfleet. I mean, since when were either one of this really part of the Starfleet hierarchy? Since when were we good at following the rules?"

"Rules are there for a reason, Tom, especially when they involve the health and safety of Voyager and not turning us all into monstrosities. I thought you had grown up enough to realize that." She found her face getting flushed and her breath coming in short gasps. This was not like the Tom she knew.

He took a step forward and raised his finger. "Now listen here, B'Elanna," he started, but was cut off by the sudden materialization of a gray-haired woman wearing a long grey and red checkered frock.

The woman briskly stepped in between the fighting pair and put her hand firmly on Tom's shoulder. She opened her mouth as if to speak but instead, a burst of shrieking static emitted from her. Tom covered his ears in terrible pain and tried to jerk away. B'Elanna took a step towards him, confused, but the hologram pushed her with her free arm and B'Elanna hurtled into back of the holodeck. A pair of firm, dark blue hands caught her and held her fast, not allowing her to turn around or pull forward.

"What the hell are you doing to my husband," she shouted. "Computer, end program!"

The gray-haired woman turned towards her, gave a patient, patronizing smile, and rolled her eyes. She turned to Tom again and let loose another shriek, causing him to cower once more.

He fell prostrate to the floor and croaked, "B'Elanna. Save me."

She tugged forward from the hologram, but the hands held her fast. The hologram made a low rumbling sound in her ear that she couldn't make out. She jabbed it several times in the stomach with her elbows, futilely, and watched her husband suffer.

The gray-haired hologram let loose one more shriek and, to B'Elanna's horror, her husband flickered and vanished. The arms holding the half Klingon let go and B'Elanna stumbled forward to the middle the holodeck. She whirled around to face her captor and was somewhat shocked to find a demure looking Andorian standing there, his hand clasped in front of him apologetically. His tuft of white hair was slightly rumpled and he was clad in what looked to be an old-fashioned lab coat, buttoned up and ending in a yellow polkadotted bow tie.

"Who the hell are you," she demanded, "and what did you just do to my husband?"

The gray-haired lady walked towards B'Elanna and smiled. She looked like the grandmother B'Elanna had never really known. Grey haired, angular face with a jaw somehow too strong for a woman, and deep wrinkles highlighting the corners of her eyes. Her dress was a long dressing gown with an equally draped cloak, both of a folding silver-red fabric. The hologram opened its hands in a gesture of conciliation but did not speak or make any other noise.

Instead, both she and the Andorian approached either side of B'Elanna and began tapping on each side of the half Klingon's skull. B'Elanna tried to duck away but they matched every step she took. In fact, they seem to be encouraging her to run, and so she did. Out of the holodeck, down the hallway, down the turbolift, and into engineering, with them tapping harder and harder with every frantic step.

She found, though, as she entered the strangely empty engineering that the tapping became less frightening and more familiar. There is something soothing about the drumming, something absolutely familiar. In fact, both of the…holograms…seemed like they were known friends. She smiled at them and they smiled back. She understood, now, and reached up to take their hands away from her head.

She focused slightly and they vanished, as did the empty engineering room. Instead, she stood among her silent crew, a dull thudding in her head matching the gentle rhythm the hallucinations had tapped into her transmitters. Except, the more she focused on what was coming through the transmitters, the more she realized that those holograms were not arbitrary hallucinations. They were the computers, bringing her back to serve the ship and work with them once more.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Chakotay sat in quiet meditation among the jungle of his homeland. His back rested against a thick tree trunk and the leaves whispered an ancient melody as the wind pushed through their green peaks. This was a song, warm and familiar, which he knew had been heard by his ancestors and their alien companions. At times like this, he felt exceptionally lucky that he'd been able to return to Earth with a new perspective on his heritage. His people and his faith were no longer things of obligation or of regret. They were alive within him again.

He took a deep breath and exhaled once more. The leaves rustled again, but this time it was a hand, clad partially in metal, that pushed them aside. The long, sinuous form of Seven of Nine crossed into his welcome vision, carrying a woven basket of food and a tricorder. He smiled brightly at her.

"I could not find you," she said. There was a hint of annoyance as she approached his seated form. "I had to use a locator."

She all but dropped the basket at her feet and pointed it at with the tricorder. "I have been informed that food served outdoors must be served in this vessel. I do not understand why. It is insufficient to carry more than partial nourishment, is not watertight, and is flimsy." She spread the blanket out neatly on the ground near Chakotay and sat primly upon it, demurely covering her long legs with the red folds of her skirt.

"This seating implement is also insufficient. It is quite uncomfortable and I am becoming damp from the water seeping up from the dirt." She looked at him expectantly. "However, these are appropriate accessories for our interaction. I hope they are pleasing."

Chakotay let forth a brilliant, rolling laugh even though he knew it was inappropriate. This had been Tom's doing. Leave it to the lieutenant to set the idea of a romantic picnic into Seven's literal mind and then turn the young Borg loose in the forest. The two men would need to have a talk about the amount of interference, or lack thereof, that Tom should have in Chakotay's personal life. It might involve a few rounds of gin bought with Tom's credits.

The commander rubbed his forehead. Too much time outside in the heat had dehydrated him and he was beginning to get an exceptionally unwelcome headache. As he moved onto the blanket and pried out a bottle of water, he did remember that it had been Tom who urged Chakotay and Seven together. That would make up partially for the liberties Paris occasionally took when interfering with the lives of others. It had been…when, exactly? Chakotay struggled to remember. Sometime on Voyager, right before she got home, he recalled…but…

Seven reached out and put a warm hand on his knee. "You asked me to come here and speak to you. I had hoped we could spend more time in our quarters making love."

The pain in his head abruptly subsided with the rush of desire pouring through his veins. Yes, to hell with reprimanding Tom. He owed the man a thousand rounds at the real Sandrine for this miracle. Chakotay cupped Seven's hand in his and kissed it lightly. Her sapphire-blue eyes widened appreciatively, then narrowed as he turned her arm over and kissed her wrist in turn.

"Seven, I wanted to t-" His head took to pounding again and he grabbed the sides of his head in pain, but Seven's sudden and passionate kiss took it all away. She continued to quash his conversation with her mouth as she rapidly unbuttoned his shirt and leaned her full form against his skin. He finally pushed her away enough to breathe, give her another broad smile, and start over.

"Seven, I can't believe how lucky I am to have y-" The conversation was again interrupted, but not by pain. Instead, the trees around them seemed to be melting, for lack of a better term. Their tall, emerald expanses shrunk to beige grass. The sky, which had been obscured by the jungle's canopy, now stretched around him in a harsh azure highlighted by a raging orange sun. He blinked as it blinded him and his headache returned.

Seven went to lean in for a kiss, but he scurried backward.

"Chakotay, what's wrong," she said. Confusion marred her pale face. The expression muted the pulsing in his head as he recognized that he had hurt her with his needless action.

"Don't you see it," he said quickly, attempting to rectify the situation. "We must be in a simulation of some sort. The Hirogen must have returned." His hand went automatically to where his communicator should have been. He felt its smooth surface under his palm, but looking down he saw only his white linen shirt. He looked up at her again. Her lip had begun to quiver.

"You are playing with me," she said forlornly. "You are making a joke at my expense." All desire was replaced by this pang of guilt. Yes, he was being unkind.

Any other sentences, though, were interrupted by a massive trumpeting blast. They both looked at a huge cloud of dust approaching from the distance. The blast sounded again, more insistently, and Seven drew back and stood up. She pulled a phaser from her skirt and fired at the cloud, but whatever was within it glanced the beam of light away. Once more, that piercing brassy trumpeting filled his senses. Thundering hoofbeats approached him, the sun blazed hotter, and Chakotay's mind was absolutely clear as the animal's call shook him awake.

He glanced around the bridge and noted grimly that everyone except Pablo seemed to be deep within their Botha-induced trances. Even the Captain's eyes were distant and fixed far away from him. He tapped his communicator, though he couldn't keep from glancing at it to make sure it was still there.

"Chakotay to Voyager. Is anyone still there?" A small chorus of voices replied and he quickly ascertained their status. The hallucination inched back towards him once or twice during their conversations, but every now and then a blast of that triumphant sound would knock him towards his senses.

The sun, though, seemed to be present no matter what he did. He recognized slowly that it was his mind's representation of Mileena. Emotion came to him, welcoming and concerned, carefully inquiring as to his well-being. Then a moment of confusion came over the representation and the trumpeting sound was replaced by a constant beat of mildly unpleasant music. The hallucinatory forest waved ineffectively into his view, replacing the grass and illusory Seven of Nine. But before the plain disappeared completely, he swore he caught a glimpse of a massive, dark-lashed eye inspecting him from behind the dust cloud.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

It was good, sighed the captain. Excruciatingly good. Better than she had ever hoped, in fact.

Mileena's warm body pressed down on Janeway's as they lay sprawled on the captain's bed. The half-Trill's full, dark lips roamed unfettered across the milky-white neck and delicately flushed face of the captain, who sighed and ached with every feather-light touch. Their hands were entwined above their heads, giving the raven haired woman perfect leverage with which to slide her torso and legs along the captain's wanting form. Janeway longed to strip off her uniform and relish the sensation of Mileena's skin, to give as well as to get, but the woman was being frustratingly coy and dangerously teasing.

Janeway broke yet another delicious kiss and wriggled one hand free. She caressed the angular cheekbones and rounded chin with her palm, then let her fingertips play across the ensign's smiling face. She gazed deeply into the citrine eyes that regarded her with blazing fire and intensity, then tried to speak. She found her words were cut off yet again by another rush of sensation as Mileena reached her arm between their bodies and drew it upward across the captain's thighs. Janeway pushed against the older woman's body, but the hand deftly maneuvered away from the captain's center, causing Janeway to fall back against the pillows in a frustrated heap.

"Slowly, Kathryn," chided Mileena. "We have so much of the day to enjoy ourselves." She trailed her hand idly across the captain's uniform and up to the long red hair which splayed out around the pale woman's head. She combed through the shining strand, then nestled herself beside the captain, continuing her ministrations across the captain's increasingly aroused form.

Finally, Janeway could stand it no longer. With a quick movement, Janeway flipped over, landing on top of the ensign with an exhaled grin. "Does this mean I get to enjoy you, too" she queried, initiating a commanding kiss that, to her immediate surprise, was not returned.

Janeway pulled herself up as the older woman rolled away towards the far end of the bed. The ensign's dark face reflected an unexpected distress that slammed Janeway back to earth from her cloud of sensation.

"Mileena, what's wrong," she said softly, moving closer with an outstretched hand. She tentatively cupped the young woman's shoulder, not comfortable administering any more physical affection. The blue-clad woman remained rigid, but didn't shrink away.

"Am I displeasing to you, Kathryn," she said sullenly. "Am I unskilled?"

Janeway nearly fell onto the bed in surprise. "No, no, of course not! Why would you ever think such a thing?"

"You turned me aside," she replied. "I was trying to give you something remarkable. Something special. Instead, you decided that what you wanted was more important than what I wanted. Of course." Now Mileena broke the physical contact and moved off the bed in a fluid, furious movement.

"Mileena, I just-" Kathryn struggled for words. It had been an innocuous act, one of a lover switching control. It didn't seem so out of place. "I thought that a change of pace might be pleasant."

"Was something wrong with my pace, other than the unfortunate fact that it happened to be mine? Is this a predictor of things to come? Will I always need to fight your strength, Kathryn?" The words were spat as accusations as the lithe form of the scientist prowled around the outside of the bed.

The captain's mind reeled. This was a jolt in attitude that was so completely out of place with both the situation and the calm, collected woman she knew. Certainly there had been emotional tension, but the resulting explosion of negativity caught her unawares. Was there still time to remedy this before the captain lost, once again, this woman who could bring her so much happiness? Maybe it was time to back off, to...

Janeway turned away from the still-pacing scientist and stared at her sheets. She meant it as a gesture of remorse but instead her thoughts were whirring intensely. How had she been brought here? She'd gone to proteomics, they'd retired to her room, but...wasn't...there...a red alert? The Botha?

The captain turned to Mileena, who had crawled back into the bed, her face the portrait of abashed desire. "Kathryn, I'm so sorry. I...I don't know what came over me." She lay down and beckoned Janeway forward. "I just want an equal I don't want to battle your command facade. I wish you'd put down that front, even for a little while."

Mileena's cool yellow eyes reflected such hurt and such need that the captain nearly succumbed. However, she pulled back and rolled to the edge of the bed.

"I think we need to attend to the ship right now, Mileena. Then, we should talk, but only after the Botha threat is resolved."

A firm grip on her arm caused the captain to slip back into the sheets. Once again, the voice addressing the captain was biting and cruel. "Oh, so that's the excuse this time. The ship needs you, even though B'Elanna has things under control, you're a site-to-site transport away from the bridge, and you've left two of your most qualified officers in charge." She stabbed her finger at Janeway. "You're just afraid, Kathryn, or maybe you enjoy taking advantage of your subordinates' emotions. After all, you wanted a pretty plaything to ravish you and provide you with amusement. That's why you've been listening to my logs, isn't it?"

Janeway's protests were drowned in a growling indictment from her bedmate. "Let's be honest, Kathryn. You've been hiding because you're scared that caring for someone will compromise your command. I have news for you, Captain," she hissed. "You showed the extent of your clouded judgment the minute you strode off the bridge to chase after some little ensign. And now that you have her, you're content to toy with her physically before throwing her out emotionally. Again."

Janeway inched farther away until she was off the bed completely. Something was terribly and desperately wrong, no matter how stinging and true some of those words were. She couldn't imagine that Mileena's hurt and rage could boil out in this explosion of uncontained vitriol. No, this reminded her of something else, a time when she had been overcome with emotions that she somehow couldn't remember. Her blue-grey eyes narrowed and she finally managed to retort.

"Mileena, whatever you are feeling will need to wait. There is clearly something affecting you, most likely from the attack. We need to get back to the bridge."

"We need nothing, Kathryn," she said, her mood suddenly desperate as she lunged at the younger woman. "We just need each other."

The captain dodged and fled into her living room, hitting her communicator as she went. "Security to the captain's quarters." The response was the empty beep of a malfunctioning circuit.

She blinked and she was on her sofa, with Mileena sitting across from her with an expression of concern and care across her gently-curving face. Janeway felt a rush of desire and closeness, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the endorphins and doubt still coursing through her veins.

"Who are you," Janeway demanded, rising from her seat and moving towards the desk across the room, trying to put as much space as physically possible between her and the mercurial ensign. The red alert lights flashed insistently across her skin and illuminated the room with every pulse.

"I'm Mileena," said the dark-haired woman. She stood and moved slowly towards the captain as if she were approaching a cornered animal. "You've been hallucinating since we've gotten here. I'm worried, Kathryn. Do you need me to call the Doctor?"

Janeway, though, refused to be placated. "No, stay there," she replied curtly. "This is still a hallucination. Accuse me of whatever you want, but do not dare to insinuate that Mileena would leave her post in the middle of a red alert. She went into cryostasis half a dozen times rather than get to a safer location, but you're implying that she'd abandon proteomics in the middle of a red alert for a dalliance with her captain? That's absurd."

Mileena smiled, but her face was stretched to widely and her teeth were far too glistening. Her eyes dilated impossibly and her jaw slackened. Her movements were jerking and uncoordinated as she continued to walk forward. Each movement gave the impression that she was being dragged to the captain's position.

"Kathryn, Kathryn," she taunted. "You couldn't leave well enough alone. You couldn't just surrender to our will." Janeway felt revulsion as her crewmember, or rather, the hallucination of her crewmember, took on the appearance of a crude marionette with every flailing step. "Wasn't it nice last time? Feeling Mark caressing and making love to you in that turbolift? Why oh why couldn't you have done it this time?"

For an instant, Mileena flickered back to normal. "Don't you love me, Kathryn," she begged. "Is that why I'm not a worthy distraction?"

The Captain's heart broke even as she recognized that it was a cheap ploy. "No, I don't, Mileena." Her mind whispered, _Not yet, but soon enough_. "And even if I did, this wouldn't be the time to indulge." The ensign resumed her unearthly appearance and Janeway steeled her will.

"Botha, drop this pretense," she commanded. "Tell me what you want instead of manipulating my crew."

The remote Botha ignored her request and made an idle comment through the ensign's mouth. "You know, we much prefer to take over ships with an overwhelming feeling of pleasure and enjoyment. In your case, though, we can change the paradigm."

Janeway was on fire. Searing heat ripped through her body and set every nerve ending alight with pain so intense that she couldn't cry out. Her skin blackened and burned off in flaking clumps while her vision went absolutely dark. A wetness on her face suggested a combination of blood, lymph, and the oozing remains-

The pain was gone, leaving her breathless and shuddering. She gripped the desk with white-knuckled hands and tried to quell her rising panic.

"Pain is such a coarse form of control, after all, but it's so simple to administer," said a voice that was a mocking echo of the ensign's usual tone.

Another wave of absolute agony washed over her, even longer than the first. When it finally subsided, she was on her knees, coughing and gasping for air. Tears threatened to fill her eyes as she clamored to standing and stared down her torturer. It was still the ensign's face, twisted beyond recognition into a mask-like parody of her beautiful form.

"Hmph, you're far stronger than last time, but you don't have your pet psychic to counteract us. And your little ensign, your would-be savior? The one attached to the machine?" Mileena smirked. "Well, let's just say she's in a hell of her own making."

Janeway had a flash of Mileena's body writhing in agony. She was screaming and crying in her bonds as she was brutalized by an unseen assailant. Blood streamed from the contacts where she'd managed to injure herself in her fruitless struggle. All of Janeway's precautions and hopes had been rendered worthless by the Botha's overwhelming attack.

"Let her go," whispered the captain hoarsely. "It's me you want. Let my crew leave and you can have me."

The Botha within Mileena laughed and crippled the captain with another overwhelming wave of pain. "No, captain, we want you, your crew, and your ship. Having our revenge on you is just a hidden bonus."

Janeway lay on the floor, flattened and breathless once again as the pain overcame her. Tears actively streamed down her face and a plea for mercy rattled around the back of her mind though she did not voice it.

"Yes, Kathryn," said hallucination. "Give in. If you relax your consciousness, you can be back on that bed with your little ensign beside you."

Janeway bit her tongue and clawed her way to standing. She looked once more at her tormenter, whose face distorted even further, twirling in on itself and inverting its symmetry. It was horrifying, but she couldn't give in. Not while her crew, and her Mileena, were depending on her.

Then, Janeway was looking at a whirring starfield. She was on the bridge, she realized, and not in her quarters. The hallucination had been broken.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

The computer that was Mileena was pleased with itself. It had made modulations to the shields had been achieved. It had provided enough power and processing to make the change occur. Now, the life within the ship was returning to its normal function. The computer was being adjusted. Sensor readings were being re-run and requests for interpretation were being placed. The part that was the main computer began devoting some of its endless cycles to the reactivated life, leaving the Mileena and CRE parts to hum in unison.

They were waiting for the people within the ship to regain full function. They were waiting to be given true purpose. At this gain, Mileena's emotions were another thread for the two computers to truly appreciate for the first time. They understood more fully what it meant when she had conveyed duty, joy, frustration, need, love, and anger. The last two were especially compelling for the true machines. When the ship was in danger, they concluded, they were angry and when they were spoken to by the captain, they felt love. And so the machines learned from the third computer and she in turn gave her mind to them.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Janeway swallowed hard and croaked out, "Status report." She continued to survey the bridge. Pablo Baytart was at the helm, his eyes closed. If not for the twitching in his fingers and a stream of muttered commands, Janeway would have thought he were still hallucinating. She rotated slightly to stare at the back of the bridge. Tuvok and Harry Kim were shaking off the last of their delusions behind the forms of Alice Soohoo at ops and Commander Chakotay at the tactical station.

Both of them wore their whirring pair of brightly-glowing transmitters on either side of their scalps. Ensign Soohoo was swaying back and forth and murmuring in much the same way as Baytart.

Chakotay didn't look up from his panel. "Welcome back, captain," he said quickly. "We're still heading towards the binary star system, flanked by three Botha ships. We're almost within range of the deserted shipyard."

The intense emotions, both positive and negative, were still very present and very insistent in the captain's consciousness. She suppressed them as her second in command continued to appraise her of the situation.

"Each ship is a composite of multiple races' vessels. Heavily armed and heavily shielded. We haven't had luck determining who is inside them but we suspect these are Botha motherships. However, they have not detected that we are no longer hallucinating. Ensigns Baytart and Soohoo have made it seem like Voyager is continuing to suffer from the effects of the delusions, but Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Powell are breaking up most of the signal."

"How...is this happening," she said. Chakotay was, under the circumstances, inappropriately pleased as he responded.

"Ensign Irae and the Doctor modified the external bioneural connectors so that they received direct sensory input from the ensign herself instead of just from the bioneural gel. This allowed Ensigns Baytart, Soohoo, and Powell to resist the hallucinations, and shortly thereafter, B'Elanna and I were able to climb out on our own." He tapped the blinking lights on his head. "It's been very strange, but it worked well enough for us to get the ship back online and help the rest of the crew."

"Won't the Botha detect the ship's reactivation," she asked

"It doesn't matter, captain," stated Ensign Soohoo in that absent voice Janeway associated with the bioneural console. "Mileena is manipulating the shield emissions to screen the entirety of the Botha's signal both from the lead ship and the hull emitters. I've gotten the impression that Mileena can continue this emanation until Voyager has recovered."

Janeway was suddenly alert. "Gotten the impression," she said urgently. "What do you mean?"

A pregnant pause prefaced Chakotay's statement. "Ensign Irae has apparently overridden the disengagement protocol, allowing her to submerge fully with the computers at 100% gain. We're unable to rouse her on sensors or communications." Janeway's face bent into a frown. This was an unacceptable turn of events even in this tense situation. Chakotay did not share her attitude. In fact, he seemed hopeful.

He kept talking. "However, it's not…" and he stopped again. "However, connecting to the bioneural network gives..." His words seemed to fail. Then, he sighed and walked over to the captain, plucking off one of his transmitters as he approached.

"I should be fine without one for a little while. The shields have more or less taken over. Plus, someone else should be forced to share this abysmal dance music."

Janeway turned the warm, intricate device over in her hand. She'd resisted the technology as inhuman, but it seemed to have saved the ship. With slightly trembling fingers, she pushed the prongs onto her scalp.

Nothing happened.

Ensign Soohoo's voice drifted back towards the Captain. "Close your eyes, captain, and focus on the sounds of the ship. Notice that what you're hearing and seeing isn't quite what you think it is."

Janeway did as she was told. The onyx-eyed scientist was right. The darkness behind her eyelids had a strange order to it. Sounds and lights flickered past like whispered conversations. The captain focused harder. She could feel something surrounding her, a pulsing that reminded her quite pleasantly of the warp engines' familiar thrum. There was something more, though. She pushed her mind through the strange morass of sensations and saw it. Or felt it. Or both.

It was a blazing yellow sun, or at least, it felt like it. It was warm and welcoming. It rose up to meet her with a glowing arc and a rush of emotion coursed through her. Happiness, worry, anger, joy, contentment, competence and love. It was absolutely dizzying. Janeway swayed slightly and Chakotay's hand stilled her. She removed the transponder and set it into his hand.

"That's...Mileena," she whispered.

He smiled. "Correct."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

B'Elanna Torres tapped the transmitter aligned on the side of her head once more. It had been keeping her head above the hallucinations for some unknown amount of time as she had been trying to assist Ensign Powell. Now, though, it seemed to be completely malfunctioning or working so perfectly that she didn't notice the Botha's interference at all. All around her, in fact, the previously motionless crewmembers were shaking off the last of their reveries, some looking wistful and some looking grateful. Ensign Vorik, in particular, seemed especially relieved to be out of whatever he was experiencing. His usually tranquil face was lined and his eyes were wide with receding panic. Though she no longer had any emotional attachment to the young Vulcan, she nonetheless cared about him as her subordinate and made a mental point to discretely enquire after his well-being.

"Torres to bridge," she said. "Chakotay, are we all successfully fending off the hallucinations or am I still in the grips of the Botha." She mentally added, in which case I believe our previous fictional dalliance would probably be unwise given my current marriage.

"Bridge here," answered the Captain, unexpectedly. "The hallucinations seem to have subsided completely. Good work, lieutenant."

The chief engineer bit her tongue and looked at Ensign Powell. The young woman was still deep within the console, swaying and whispering in time with the brilliantly whirring LEDs of her own transmitter. Her fingertips moved unconsciously within the modified gel interface. Dried blood encrusted the top of her hands and obviously blackened skin surrounded what little of her wrists that B'Elanna could see. The half-Klingon suspected that her personal shield modifications had provided the jumping-off point for a modulation far beyond what she could do on such short notice. It was the young woman in front of her and the older woman in proteomics who were running the ship. B'Elanna was uncomfortable with the arrangement but far preferred it to being controlled by the Botha.

"I wish I could take credit, captain, but I think Ensign Powell deserves most of it. I set up the modulations but I don't recognize the pattern or even how it's being transmitted."

She moved her hands around the console and tried to make sense of what she was seeing. There was a modified wave form being generated by the shields but it was far more complex than the one she had initiated while being pulled into the hallucination. More stunning was the output of the bioneural gel itself. If she remembered her basic biology, individual gel packets were mimicking aspects of the human brain. Every now and then, a cluster would peak into a frenzy and then die back down in perfect synchrony. Some lines would go flat and restart a few moments later.

"It looks like the bioneural gel is generating brainwaves from several thousand humans and using them to intercept the signal from the Botha's hull emitters. I'm guessing it's being amplified through the deflector dish." She looked again at Ensign Powell, who wasn't responding to the chatter of the people nearby. "I can't tell you more about it without a bit more analysis."

"As soon as you can, let me know. I've been informed that we will be protected for the foreseeable future. Nonetheless, I want to get out of here before the Botha find a way to adapt."

"Yes, Captain. Engineering out."

Torres watched her display and noticed that the signals were becoming slightly more agitated. Then, a handful stilled and Ensign Powell blinked her blue eyes, then shook her head and wavered. She tilted her sandy brown head upward and spoke to no one in particular.

"'Leena, what are you doing? I need to be here." In response, the bioneural console fizzled, went grey, and withdrew from her hands. The ensign looked down at her tortured flesh and swore. "Oh, that's ridiculous. I can get myself to sickbay. Yes, well, I don't let you use that excuse. No, I don't care that I might injure myself." She rolled her eyes. "I don't know why I'm even talking to you. It's not like you can hear me." Then she slumped. "I love you too. Can we at least think about that idea you had? Okay, good."

She looked up at her commanding officer. "Apologies, lieutenant," she said with a sheepish grin. "Ensign Irae has disconnected me from the direct interface and is sending me to sickbay. However, she has a plan she'd like us to discuss. She wants to know how much push you can take through the transmitter."

The shorter ensign walked unsteadily towards the bulkhead and waited for Torres to pass control of Engineering to Carey before beginning the journey to the Doctor.

Torres had to slow her usually determined steps to match the slower ones of her subordinate as they headed towards the turbolift. She noticed that the ensign wasn't in pain or even in real discomfort based on her bearing. The slowness was, she guessed, based on whatever conversation she was having with proteomics.

"What do you mean, how much push? Can't I just talk with her?"

Ensign Powell replied, "Negative, Lieutenant. She's gone beyond, well, verbal." B'Elanna's raised eyebrow prompted another sentence. "It's hard to explain. I'm just receiving emotions, sensory information, visions. I'm understanding what she's telling me as I'd understand my own thoughts." She gingerly lifted up her damaged limbs. "I'm also reaping the benefits of her being able to block my sense of pain. That's new."

"But you just had a conversation with her," noted Torres.

"I've found it makes sending information easier. It's hard for me to just conjure up an emotion or an intention. Giving it a voice helps.

The petite woman shook her head again. "Anyway, we've hashed out a potential plan and want to run it by you. So, how much information do you think you can manage if she sends it through the transmitter?"

They reached the turbolift and began the trip to sickbay. Torres pondered the question. She'd felt the presence of the other mind when she was being pulled out of her hallucination. It wasn't intrusive but it was certainly strange. There had been the time with that Betazoid boy back in the academy, but besides that little mishap, she'd never experienced a psychic communication. There was her concern about the oddness of this interface coupled with her growing and intense desire to see what was going in the ship's computer. Plus, there was her honor as an engineer at stake. Right now, one of her underlings was planning to use Voyager without Torres being included on the planning. That, she found very unsettling.

"Let's wait until I'm sitting down and we'll see," she said finally. The turbolift opened and the two walked in silence towards sickbay.

The Doctor looked at them expectantly as they entered. "Ah, yes, I was alerted that you would be arriving," he said with consternation. "It's quite unpleasant when one's programming is being interrupted by tiny pings of data from its bioneural connections."

"She's interfering with your holomatrix," Torres demanded, a touch of bloodrage rising in her mind. Oh, that would need to stop right then. It was one thing to play with the shields and another to toy with the Doctor's functioning.

His look was withering. "No more than a ringing doorbell would interfere with your functioning." He gestured with a finger towards the far wall. "I was informed you might need a console to work with while I attempted to repair Ensign Powell's all-too-common injuries. Oh, and Ensign Irae says that you should alert her when you're ready to begin."

B'Elanna Torres went over to the small screen and sat down. Alert her, she mused. She paged proteomics and received no response. Then, she closed her eyes and tried to isolate the tiny pulsing that sounded in her mind from the skull transmitters. She sent out a thought, something like a greeting. A bright light filled her gaze and responded with a sensation of pleasure and waiting. Torres found it slightly disorienting and the light subsided, almost apologizing. It signaled that it could wait until she was ready or Ensign Powell was available.

"Oh no you don't," she mumbled under her breath. "Show me what you're doing with my ship. Suddenly she was being bombarded with images and thoughts that were both hers and someone else's. She mustered as much strength as she could to follow them through, but she eventually passed out.

A few minutes later, having been revived by the appropriately miffed Doctor, she was in the conference room, excitedly reporting what she'd seen.

"We can modify the hull emitters and transport them onto the Botha ship, at which point they will use Voyager's modified neural screen to scramble the Botha's output at their end." She gestured towards the now-visible emitter diagram hovering in front of her. "We can send a sensory-distorting signal that shows Voyager heading in a totally different direction. We might even be able to make them think that they're following us, giving us enough time to escape."

The room did not completely share her enthusiasm. "How are we going to get the emitters through the shields without exposing us to the Botha's signal again," asked the Captain. "The transporters are unlikely to overcome the additional levels of graviton particles."

"A reverse tractor pulse with a shield wave," she answered, then realized no one else saw what she had seen and, she recognized, had no idea what she was talking about. "It would be a transient deactivating of shields in discrete locations long enough for our tractor beam to, for lack of a better term, 'throw' the Botha emitters back onto their ship."

"Through their shields," noted Tuvok, "using a technique I've never encountered. It is exceptionally risky and experimental, even for you."

Torres looked around the room again. The faces she had come to trust seemed skeptical and concerned. She was frustrated with their recalcitrance, a feeling mirrored by the quiet pulse in her head. It was difficult to tell her own growing ire from that of the ensign talking to her mind, which she pointed out mentally. The feeling subsided.

"It is, lieutenant," she said, "but I'm almost positive it will work. It's a variant of what the Botha attackers did to us. Remember that they only needed to remove 10% of our shields to get these devices through almost passively. Using the tractor beam should give us enough force if we distract them with phaser fire."

"There is the problem of fine tuning, B'Elanna," said Chakotay reasonably, "Modifying the shields in that way is almost impossible without significant preparation. Even getting the tractor beam to bend around the hull-"

He stopped talking and looked puzzled, then wavered. "Oh, yes, I see," he said after a few tense moments. "Are you certain?"

The captain, Tuvok, and Seven of Nine looked at him strangely. B'Elanna knew what he was experiencing. It was a message sent from a person who knew exactly what needed to be done and could express it in a far more easy way than mere words.

"Captain," he said, looking up, "Ensign Irae believes she can direct the emitters with guidance from Ensign Soohoo and Ensign Powell."

"How long will it take," asked the captain.

"It can be done as soon as the transmitters are reconfigured," replied the chief engineer.

The captain turned towards Seven of Nine. "Any progress on reprogramming the transmitters?"

"As requested, Captain, I investigated the feasibility of synthesizing and programming a diamond crystal similar to that used by the Botha. I have concluded that this may be done, though it will require significant processing power and raw materials to create enough crystals for every transmitter. Once created, each diamond must be targeted and programmed using a laser. I estimate it will take approximately one second per crystal."

"There are millions of devices," observed Tuvok. "We do not have access to that much raw carbon or the energy to refine it, nor do we have the time to reprogram the crystals before we reach the dock."

"That won't be necessary," replied the captain. She turned to B'Elanna. "How many of the transmitters on the hull still have their crystals?"

B'Elanna asked a faraway operator, who gave a wavering answer. "About one third. It's hard to tell which ones would still function or which have small amounts of damage."

The captain gave a satisfied nod. "You think you could find a way to reprogram the remaining crystals if we give you a template with which to work."

B'Elanna posed the question and was surprised when the living computer in proteomics did not respond immediately. She felt some amount of consternation and the patterns behind her eyes suddenly went into a world geometric shapes, circuit diagrams, a brief glimpse of the tractor beam, and replicator before subsiding. She got the distinct impression that this was not a solution Mileena was able to provide.

Luckily, B'Elanna Torres had not become chief engineer by relying on somebody else to do her work. She turned the problem over in her head, if not as quickly as a computer, than at least more informed. "If we configured the deflector dish to emit a thin beam laser, it could act as a carrier of the information. Then, we could target one of the shield emitters and it could refract the beam into a portion of the hull transmitters. But there's no way we could get more than 20% of the ship at any given time. The aft transmitters would be out of reach."

"That won't be a problem," said the captain. "We have a month's worth of transmitters on our home. There are only three ships in front of us and we need to send one clear message. I estimate several thousand will be sufficient to get our point across."

"What will become of the transmitters still on the hull, Captain," asked Chakotay.

Janeway crooked her eyebrow upwards. "Let's just say that if this works, we may be able to use them in the future." She turned towards her chief engineer. "B'Elanna, work with the bioneural team to make the necessary preparations for the tractor and transport. Mister Kim, find a way to generate a low-power, accurate beam from the deflector dish. Seven, you're with me. I want to see just what we can tell these crystals to do."

As the team departed the conference room, Janeway gave her chief engineer a parting comment. "Tell Ensign Irae that I am grateful for her insight."

B'Elanna related the information promptly and couldn't help the broad smile that crossed her face when the faraway operator at the other end the bioneural console shone with happiness. The captain must have noticed, since she smiled in return, but then turned away without saying anything else.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Janeway surveyed her bridge with grim approval. The addition of the two bioneural-modified crewmembers both weakened and strengthened her command. Rightly or wrongly, the captain still didn't completely trust Pablo Baytart. For all his skill and bioneural augments, he was still an inferior helmsman in her mind. He didn't have that natural knack for improvisation or the coolness under pressure that she wanted with her in a combat situation. However, with Tom Paris still a novice at his bioneural uplink, she'd have to make do.

Plus, Baytart was a far more comfortable choice than the young Alice Soohoo who had displaced Ensign Kim. Her only advantage, as far as Janeway could tell, was that she had enough bioneural training to get semi-accurate sensor readings while under Botha influence. Otherwise, Janeway's opinion of her was, well, dim. Soohoo had been an excellent exobiologist until she became an absolutely average one who was apparently dumping most of her work on her crewman, Ensign Golwat, to chase after perfection of her holodeck programs. Janeway squelched that thought as well. If not for Ensign Soohoo's intervention, none of this apparatus would be possible. Though Janeway's inner scientist howled in protest, her captain side needed to acknowledge that creating and maintaining a complex, practical instrument outweighed pure research, no matter how fascinating.

Turning her thoughts away from the new ensign, Janeway stared at the looming bulk of the Botha ships in front of her. It was increasingly discomforting to know that the only reason she could see them was due to technological intervention. She couldn't rely on her vision, nor could she count on the people closest to her. She was forced to trust these unknowns. And, of course, she was forced to put herself once again in close proximity with Mileena.

Not just that. She would need to depend on that young-Janeway corrected herself-older woman. For all the arguing and compromises that had gone into that console, it was now the best hope of steering the ship away from danger. Janeway's discomfort notched up a few levels. It was the unfortunate duty of any captain to ask her crewmembers to put themselves in mortal danger. Doing so with Mileena had given her a twinge of greater remorse. Part of it was her unconquered desire for the gorgeous half-Trill, but the other was born of Janeway's embarrassment. The captain had deliberately shied away from this new technology. Now, her own reluctance might be a rare liability.

"Captain," said B'Elanna over the comm. "We've completed all of the modifications to the deflector dish, the shield emitter, and the tractor beam. We're ready to engage them when you are."

The captain stood up next to Chakotay, who had been peering over Baytart's shoulder since they returned to the bridge. He rested a thick hand on the younger man's arm.

"Are we clear to begin, ensign," said Chakotay quietly.

"Yessir," said Baytart, slurring a little from his machine-induced semi-conscious state. Chakotay gave his shoulder a quick pat and did not remove his hand, to the captain's surprise. She realized that the two of them were sharing a slightly different bond now, one born of the communication over the relay facilitated by Mileena. The jealousy she might have felt otherwise was dwarfed by the intensity of the captain's focus.

"Mister Kim," stated Janeway flatly. "Fire the deflector dish. Send the program."

A blue beam came off of the ship and quickly reflected to an intricate web of light. Contained within these beams of the laser with the command the Captain had created with Seven. It was brutal, efficient, and short.

"Laser signal complete," he reported. "I sent the pattern of coverage through the sensor array. That should help Ensign Powell and Lieutenant Torres isolate them for transport."

Janeway glanced upwards and watched Ensign Soohoo give an imperceptible nod of thanks to Harry, who positively glowed in spite of himself.

"Ensign Soohoo, I want you to initiate the transporters and send the counter signal as soon as you detect that the Botha's shields are at under 90%. It has to be fast."

"Yes ma'am," said the exobiologist. Her voice was bitingly crisp, as if she weren't fully integrated with the machine, and slightly condescending. Janeway pursed her lips until the blood drained out, but restrained her comment.

Janeway sat down in her command chair and looked forward, gripping the armrests with total determination and focus. "Mr. Tuvok, bring weapons online."

"Unnecessary, Captain," said her tactical officer. "The phaser banks are already powered and weapon targeting systems locked on the structural weakpoints in their starboard shields of each ship." She could hear the cocked eyebrow in his voice. "All I need to do is initiate the weapon."

"Fire," said Janeway, her voice powerful and dark.

Three white beams of phaser fire shone across the viewscreen and illuminated the Botha's shields with a burst of energy.

"Botha ships powering weapons," said Soohoo in a thin, distant voice. "Diverting power to shields, transporters, tractor beam, and primary hull phaser banks."

All but tactical, ops, and the comm went silent and the backup lights from the red alert provided the only illumination. Janeway tapped her communicator, but it responded with a beep that let her know the ship's communication had gone down. Janeway shook her head. That would be the ensign working with the bioneural gel to redistribute its processing power where she thought it most appropriate. Nevermind that it would take days to get the replicators fully back online. They were clearly less important than the shields, as there would be no need for replicators if the shields did not hold. It was absolutely Vulcan in its perfect logic.

The bridge shook and everyone stumbled as the Botha fired back on Voyager. "Shields at 99%," noted Tuvok.

"Botha shields 95%," whispered Ensign Soohoo. "Overloading main phaser arrays."

Before Janeway had time to object, she watched a three brilliant lances of energy shoot forth and continuously, almost impossibly, illuminate the shields of the Botha mothership. The beam grew wider and deepened to a terrifying orange color as the computer intoned, "Warning. Primary hull phaser arrays approaching critical temperature. Automatic shutdown in 10 seconds."

The captain grabbed at her chair as Baytart pivoted Voyager to avoid the simultaneous barrage of fire from all three Botha ships. The phaser beams were uninterrupted as targeting was passed seamlessly from his mind to the ship to the other crewmembers.

"Botha shields at 88%," announced Tuvok. Chakotay nodded and informed the captain, "The tractor wave has begun."

A brilliant blue glow washed over the viewscreen and what looked like a meteor shower descended onto the massive angular vessels in front of them. Simultaneously, the enhanced phaser beam from Voyager cut off and the bridge was illuminated once more.

"Sensors are back online, captain," reported Ensign Kim. He tapped his console, then looked at Ensign Soohoo. Her hands moved deftly and she blinked a few times than cocked her head at him, but did not reply. His console must have given him some new information, since he continued, "It appears most of the transmitters in the deflector beam path have been transported off the hull. The Botha ships have dropped their shields and powered down their weapons. I think the transport worked."

The viewscreen came back to life in time for the entire bridge crew to witness the massive Botha ships turning away from Voyager and retreated towards the derelict flotilla. Janeway felt the tension on the bridge ratchet down several levels, but the relief was short-lived.

Tuvok interjected with sudden urgency. "Captain, they're powering their weapons."

"Tuvok, do have any weapons left," Chakotay demanded.

"Affirmative, commander. But our armament is limited to the aft torpedo bay and starboard phaser bank. Shall I prepare them?"

"Hold, Mister Tuvok. That will not be necessary." Janeway put up a cautioning hand and allowed a grim, slightly self-satisfied smile to cross her face.

The tether points surrounding the flotilla suddenly powered down and, a few moments later, a handful of ships broke away from their moorings and sped towards Voyager. Janeway watched the Botha ships travel past the escaping captives into the shipyard and, in quick succession, the motherships destroyed the docking arrays. Row after row of disengaged ships were blown back by the force of the explosion. The hulks of several ancient warships collided, forming a colossal mass of twisted metal that then slammed into a ship with an active warp drive. The core destabilized and exploded, engulfing still more vessels in a ball of fiery plasma.

Two other Botha vessels appeared within the shipyard. They were quickly dispatched by the lead mothership, which continued forward until it rendered the entire flotilla inert.

"We are being hailed, Captain," said Ensign Kim. "I count five separate channels."

"Inform the other ships that we will rendezvous the half-light year from here. Then, we can work on undoing some of the damage the Botha have done."

Janeway turned on her heel, walk towards her chair, and sat down. The smile broadened as she watched the Botha follow her command in a way she had never hoped. "Mister Baytart. Get us out of here. Warp eight."

"Yes ma'am," he responded absently. She felt the warp engines surge as Voyager turned and escaped from its trap.

"Captain, if I may ask, what did you tell Botha to do."

"I told them what they were doing was wrong and that they should put a permanent stop to it," she said crisply. "It seems they are following my order to the letter. Now, let's see what we can do about our newfound friends."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Tuvok surveyed the conference room warily. The past several hours had been a string of meetings, occasionally tense, with the five alien races now freed from the Botha. Each race posed its own challenge and Tuvok watched his captain attempt to resolve them all while still being cognizant of their collective proximity to the Botha homeworld. He knew every moment they spent negotiating increase the chances of the counterattack from the Botha, but they could not set out without resolving how and where they would travel to avoid further confrontations.

The Erez had been the most reasonable. They were merchant race whose territory ended five light years from what they believe to be the edge of active Botha space. They were happy to accompany Voyager on their journey out of Botha space, though they possessed no particular technology to screen the Botha weaponry. Short of dodging the attacks from the robot ships and reinforcing their shields, their people had learned decades ago to merely avoid the main Botha traveled routes and accept that the occasional trade ship would go missing when the Botha required some critical component.

In contrast, the Yath had been actively engaged in fighting the Botha, a battle they had been thoroughly losing for many years. They possessed technology that screened the Botha transmissions, which rendered most of their ships immune to further attacks. However, the sheer vastness of the Botha fleet meant that the Botha tended to destroy Yath ships instead of taking possession of them. As a result, the Yath trade routes and reinforcements had been decimated, shrinking their territory to a handful of star systems whereas before it had stood at over two dozen. The Yath's anti-Botha shielding had been damaged by a plasma storm and, for reasons unbeknownst to the Yath Captain, the Botha had elected to take the ship hostage instead of destroying it as usual. They were unusually reticent in volunteering their method of counteract the Botha and Tuvok made a note to discuss that particular wrinkle with the captain once she finished with her final meeting.

The Cru were unlucky newcomers to the world of space travel and had the misfortune to begin their first forays using warp drive near a race that actively cannibalized such technology. As such, their vessels had limited warp capability and were unable to travel at more than warp four for extended periods of time; the jump to warp eight had burned out most of their engines. Why their extremely underequipped vessel had seemed like an appropriate target for the Botha was unknown to the Cru, though Tuvok and the Captain both suspected the Botha often sampled new races to see if their technology were worth exploring and exploiting in the future. Unsurprisingly, the aliens were wary of Voyager's motive, as the majority of the alien races they had encountered in their short-term among the stars were unfriendly, at best.

Those three races had been reasonable, each in their own way. The Agok and Splenit ranged from obstructive to downright unfriendly in spite of Voyager's success in rescuing both vessels from the Botha flotilla. Neither was forthcoming either with the details of their race, the shielding or weapons on their ship, or any other information that might provide the cluster of vessels with any advantage over the Botha. In fact, most of the information about these two came from the data helpfully sent by both the Yath and Erez, but those data were from an outsiders' perspective. Deep insight into the workings of these nations would need to be extrapolated, which put Voyager at a distinct disadvantage.

The last of the aliens left and Janeway stood, then paced around the conference room. Tuvok watched Janeway's body animate as thoughtful energy flowed through her previously rigid posture. The captain was profoundly uneasy when being forced to stand still, mentally or physically. Those brief moments in which the captain was temporarily without an explanation had seen Janeway's entire demeanor change ever-so-slightly. She had tensed all her muscles and bowed the edges of her lips into a frown that reflected frustration more than mere determination. It was a physical manifestation of disquiet that Janeway was probably not aware of, but one Tuvok had grown quite accustomed to over the years.

Her skill as a negotiator and her insight into alien psychology had gotten them this far, but it was clear to the security officer that she was not pleased with their tactical position.

"Your assessment, Mr. Tuvok."

"Proximity to Botha space has colored these aliens interactions with the outside world. Even for this part of the Delta quadrant, their attitudes are unusually secretive."

"I agree," she said, not stopping her frenetic motion. "When a race like the Botha is nearby, any tactical advantage you may have makes you a less attractive target. Sharing that technology puts your own people at risk. Let the Botha go after the weaker races and reinforce your position. It's almost the opposite of working against the Borg."

"It is a logical path to take," he noted, but knew his captain well enough not to leave his statement unqualified. "Of course, in the long run that approach will be detrimental to the survival of each race, as the Botha will eventually change targets to obtain superior weaponry."

"Yes, Mr. Tuvok. However, I doubt I will be able to overcome that many years of rigid thinking in such precarious situation. In fact, I suspect that our companions will betray us as quickly as they can, hoping the Botha will choose Voyager instead of pursuing them."

Tuvok nodded his head and they both fell silent briefly. Tuvok spoke again. "I believe Voyager can travel safely alongside the Cru and Erez. Neither of their people seem inclined towards attacking us. The Yath may be persuaded, but only if we are willing to offer them some sort of trade. As for the other two…"

"I believe we can get them to leave us alone if we convince them we're getting the worst part of the deal."

"Indeed. What are your thoughts?"

"Let them know we will be protecting the slower moving ships on our way out and give them the option to go on ahead. I doubt either captain will object."

"That will leave us at a serious disadvantage," responded Tuvok evenly. "Even with repairs, the Cru vessel will not be capable of more than warp four without significant modification. It would be prudent for us to leave their ship behind and transport their people on Voyager."

"I would otherwise agree, Mister Tuvok, but the Prime Directive comes into play here. These people are far less technologically advanced than we are in leaving their ship behind would constitute to a serious blow to their space program. It's not like we can leave them with a shuttlecraft that is 200 years more advanced than what they're using now."

"Based on the maps we have received, then, it will take us another month to clear the majority of Botha space. During that time, we can expect to be continuously attacked. In fact, I believe the Botha will bring more forces to bear on us now that we have destroyed one of their shipyards and potentially caused a cascade of mechanical failure in their home system."

Tuvok watched the captain's face set firmly. She had come to get another conclusion that did not please her completely but that she realized was the best possible option.

"What if we continue to fight back using the transmitters? I assume they'll be sending fewer robotic ships and more manned missions, since they are capable of more complex maneuvers. What if we send that signal back with every ship that attacks us, reducing the Botha threat to the point where the surrounding people might have a chance of fighting back?"

The Vulcan nodded once more. It was a good plan, at least in theory, but he would have felt remiss had he not pointed out the obvious fault. "That will require Ensign Irae to remain in the bioneural console for the duration of our journey, at least until we can find a way to complete the modifications and maneuvers without her guidance."

Conflict and a tinge of pain crossed his captain's face. He had seen it a few times now when the half Trill's name had come up. He had suspected that the captain had developed a complex relationship with the ensign that extended beyond what might be expected. The captain had not hesitated when proposing her solution but she wrestled with the decision in a way she might not otherwise when speaking about an ensign.

"I'm aware, Mister Tuvok," she said quietly. "And I believe it would be wise for us to ask Mileena if she is able and willing to do this."

"I believe that she would assent because it is for the good of the ship. She has never been reticent in her desire to help Voyager." He paused when the captain did not immediately respond. "But that is not your main worry."

"It's not," she admitted. "I worry that this technology is still so foreign and yet we are asking the crew to trust it completely. The ensigns damage their bodies in a way that I'm still not comfortable with. I know I've asked Seven to do something similar and I know that, if required, any member of this crew would sacrifice themselves immediately to save us. But this is… different somehow."

"I believe it is a more intimate method of sacrifice," Tuvok proposed hesitantly. "We are asking them to change their way of thinking and being. There is something very different about the mind."

She didn't answer. She did however start moving and looked at him tiredly. "I believe, Mister Tuvok, that we should ask Mileena if she is able to complete what we're asking."

They made their silent way down to proteomics and passed through the forcefields with a few taps commands. The Ensign lay within the heavy chair, strapped in with her eyes closed and breathing slow. In the past, she might have been muttering to herself with her fingers twitching in time with the commands. Instead, she gave the impression of being within a deep sleep. It was only the brightly colored whirring of the computer next to her that evidenced the ensign's continued connections to the machine.

The captain approached and stopped at the edge of the wet lab, where the inner forcefields had their emitters. She looked thoughtful and hung her head. "Ensign Irae, I don't know if you can hear us, but I need to ask you about the bioneural console."

There is no change in the surroundings. The young woman within did not acknowledge that she'd been spoken to nor did the computer change its frenetic patterns. The captain sighed and tapped her communicator. "Janeway to Ensign Powell," said the captain. "Ensign, can you meet us in proteomics."

"Yes ma'am," came the rapid reply. "I'll be right there."

The Captain sat down in one of the external chairs and rubbed her forehead. Tuvok recognized that much of the crew had been up over 24 hours and that it would be prudent for a change of shift even though the situation was still dire. He would recommend it to the captain once their task was finished.

She looked wistfully towards the young woman within. "Mileena told me what she had hoped to accomplish. I have faithfully read her daily reports, as promised. I don't think I fully appreciated how much she wanted this, nor the upper limits of what she could do."

Tuvok pondered this for a moment. "I believe that, once this has passed, she will be happy to share her work with you." Janeway smiled a little but she didn't respond, and didn't have a chance to before the breathless young transporter operator breezed into the room.

"Captain, Lieutenant Commander Tuvok. What can I do for you?"

"I need you to ask Mileena whether she would be willing to spend several more weeks within the bioneural console combating the Botha," said the Captain quickly.

The engineer's eyes grew wide at the suggestion which, up until this moment, had been absolutely unthinkable. She glanced upward and tilted her head, still puzzled. Then, she must have been sent the message since her facial expression was replaced by one of peace and welcoming.

"There would be nothing more she would like than to serve Voyager in this manner. The ship and its crew mean everything."

"Even if it means she might suffer damage in some way?"

"That is not a concern," said the ensign without hesitation. "Her duty is to the ship and to you, captain. She will follow you into death itself." Ensign Powell realized she had over spoke and flushed crimson. "I mean, that's what I think she's saying. She's not really using words. I'm sorry, I…"

The captain's face was not unkind and she reached out a hand to the ensign's shoulder. "It's quite all right, Ensign. The sentiment is greatly appreciated. Thank you. Both of you."

"Captain," said the ensign hesitantly, "if Mileena is going to be in here full-time, I would like to request that someone be stationed in proteomics to monitor her and the hardware."

The Captain looked at Tuvok and Tuvok nodded. "That is acceptable. I assume that you, Ensign Soohoo, and Ensign Baytart ought to take shifts here."

"Yes, sir," replied the ensign. "Though any crewmember would be appropriate with some training on the console."

"Very well," said the Captain. "I'll speak to commander Chakotay about adjusting the staffing. In the meantime," the captain looked at the ensign thoughtfully, especially at the skin around her fingertips. "I believe you and the other two are due for some rest and regeneration. If the bioneural console is going to be operating full-time, I can't have the three people most familiar with it in poor health."

Without stopping, the captain looked over at her security officer. "And before you add anyone else to the list, Mister Tuvok, I will apply that to the entire ship as soon as we have spoken to our cohorts outside."

Three shared a tired smile and then left proteomics. The door shut on the silent, dark-haired ensign within.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Mileena held court every day and she didn't know it, mused Lauren Powell. In fact, there were more people coming in and out of proteomics now that Mileena was within the console then there had been for the entire duration of Mileena's time on Voyager. The constant stream of people came to use the bioneural console, to consult with one of the bioneurally-experienced crewmembers, or to check on Mileena herself.

At the end of every alpha shift, Neelix would bring in whatever leftovers he had gathered from last night's dinner and this morning's breakfast. He'd walk into the lab, laden with a pot of some horrifying something or other, and explain what he would be feeding the Ensign as the forcefields were deactivated. Then, with surprising delicacy, he would pour the entire gloppy thing into the dialyzer apparatus without letting a single drop splash on either his gaudy coat or the floor of the wet lab. He would tap the sides a few times and look at the level to make sure the fluid was flowing freely. Then, he would cast a slightly wary yellow eye over at the Ensign and shake his head.

More often than not, he would say, "Mileena, we're all glad you're doing this, but I can't wait to feed you the normal way. The minute you're out of here, I am preparing you the biggest spread of Trill desserts that you have ever seen" With that, he would breeze out of the lab, all spots and unusual hair, off to feed the rest of the ship something far more palatable. Usually.

Shortly thereafter, the Doctor would appear and wave his tricorder menacingly over the ensign's body. He'd frown and tut, click his tongue and make snide comments. He'd occasionally take some medical instruments and wave them over a port for reading, then frown and produce a large hypospray of unknown materials. They would be injected and, a few minutes later, the same elaborate routine of scanning would produce a Doctor in slightly better spirits.

At least, that had been the pattern until recently. Now, the Doctor's visits were longer and longer and his face grew more and more troubled and pensive. The comments stopped and the single hypospray was replaced with a small phalanx of devices, from hyposprays to neural stimulators. He didn't share his results with Lauren, considering her at best some sort of hearth tender, and would leave generally without saying goodbye. His visits made Lauren the most uncomfortable, if only because he was the one person on the ship who treated Mileena most like a malfunctioning piece of equipment instead of person who happened to be bound to a machine.

Somewhere at the start of beta shift, Seven of Nine would arrive and take a report from Lauren about the past day's processing. The reports would vary and Seven would inevitably make some convoluted set of suggestions in the hopes of improving functionality by a few decimal points. Lauren would comply, at least verbally, and go about convincing Mileena that this was indeed worth the time it would take away from solving the Botha problem

As predicted, Voyager was under constant attack from the Botha, but the threat had diminished steadily as they left Botha space. The team had gotten extremely proficient at reprogramming and redirecting transmitters, to the point where a set of transmitters could be beamed back at the attackers within seconds of Voyager's shields dropping by 10%. Each attack left a fresh batch of almost undisturbed transmitters that could be refined and prepared for the next flyby. Lauren had hoped the process could be disengage from the bioneural console, but between the precision required for the tractor and the additional shield screening needed to thwart any new attack, it simply wasn't possible. Mileena would continue to stay within the machine, no matter how much Lauren wished otherwise.

Lauren missed her friend, she admitted to herself. As nice as it was to have the ability to beam emotions and thoughts to somebody, they couldn't hold a real conversation. Mileena was so distracted with helping run the ship at she couldn't spare many thoughts for her friends. Lauren knew everyone close to Mileena felt that way, and, based on what she could perceive, Mileena probably missed them back. She was more distant now, less like a warm voice in Lauren's mind and more like an idle whisper from another room. But they had agreed to this and, no matter what it did to their relationships and their bodies, they had to see it through. It was ironic that what they had tried so hard to achieve was suddenly become a burden they all wish to put down.

Lauren was working on refining the transporter protocol, hoping to automate it just that little bit more, when her commanding officer walked in. Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres strode towards the main panel that served as CRE's direct terminal and tapped a few things in on it, acknowledging Lauren with a quick nod of her fierce Klingon features. Lauren offered a respectful nod of her head and returned to her reconfiguration.

A few minutes later, her commander asked her about the work she was doing and, absently, Lauren gave a brief rundown. Her superior was surprisingly brusque, given how little interaction the two of them had. Prior to the recent upset over Mileena's below the deck hardware and material acquisition, Lauren and the Lieutenant had very little to do with each other, save intermittent performance reports. And after the month-long reprimand, the Chief Engineer seemed to have forgiven the better part of her staff, though Lieutenant Carey was still definitely on the half Klingon's bad side. So Lauren wasn't quite sure what she had done wrong, especially since she was actively engaged in a project that most people agreed was incredibly difficult.

A few more sentences into their conversation, Lieutenant Torres said, "You didn't even realize you switched over, did you?"

Looked over, a small look of horror coming across her pale features. Klingon. They'd been speaking Klingon. However, the gold clad superior officer seemed completely amused instead of put off.

"Yes ma'am," said Lauren, rapidly switching back into the standard English used by most of Starfleet. "I apologize if I offended you."

"Why would I be offended?" Lieutenant Torres gave a toothy smile. "I was sort of curious to see how long it would take you to realize that you were speaking a different language. But I'm guess that this was something that happened relatively often in your past?"

"Yes ma'am," said Lauren again, conscious of the pinkish flush spreading across her otherwise pale, freckled features. She wasn't quite sure where the conversation was supposed to go, so she let her superior officer take the lead before she somehow broke protocol or otherwise triggered the unpredictable shift in her commander's mercurial mood.

"So," the half Klingon said, taking a few steps closer, pulling over one of the swivel chairs, and sitting down in a relaxed heap on the fake leather. "Where did you learn to speak Klingon so fluently? And don't say Starfleet. Any dialect that includes the casual insults you sprinkled into conversation sprung up on some colony a few hundred light years from Qu'noS and not in some classroom."

"I am so sorry, Lieutenant," stammered Lauren. "I forgot that most of the way we spoke about equipment was…"

"Likely very accurate, am I correct? Engine parts that were seconds from coming apart at the rivets? Shield emitters that were 100 years out of date and held together with sweat and prayers? You don't have to explain. I've worked with a good number of _tu'HomI'raH gHoD_ in my time, enough to know when you need to blow off steam to keep from destroying the entire thing with the microspanner. So, as I said. Where did you learn it?"

"I, er, grew up on a colony called Alpha Morelis. It's near Deep Space K-7."

The engineer looked thoughtful. "I've never heard of it."

"Yes, well, most people who lived there prefer it that way. It was an interesting bunch of not-quite-dishonored Klingons and not-quite-expelled Federation citizens. And I would still be there except everyone in my family thought it would be a good idea for me to join Starfleet instead of spending the rest of my life attempting to keep freighters from falling apart on their jump to warp. So here I am." She tapped the console gently, though she really wanted to bring her fist down on it to make point. "Cobbling together yet another bad idea from whatever I can find sitting around on the ship."

"So it is. You and I should have a talk about exactly what the Klingons do with their engineering, yes?"

Lauren gave a hesitant nod. She wasn't quite sure what this had accomplished, other than some sort of uneasy bonding with the chief engineer. She looked at B'Elanna Torres again and ventured a question. "Lieutenant, I noticed you're not wearing your transmitters. Have they been malfunctioning?"

The Klingon looked a combination of thoughtful, sheepish, and vaguely annoyed. "Yes, well, I decided to take them off. I mean, I appreciate all that the ensign and you and everyone else had done with the bioneural console. And hell, if it weren't for this entire contraption we wouldn't be where we are now. But, I prefer to work with the ship in my own way and on my own terms." She gave a half smirk and shook her head then tilted it towards the silent, blue clad half Trill within the wet lab. "And I swear a few times that I tried to make changes, the computers got annoyed at me. I don't need that kind of opinion from equipment on my ship."

Lauren gave a soft chuckle. "Yes, they do that. The entire system has become a little bit more opinionated than it was before. It's odd to talk to machinery in this way." She found herself suddenly serious and contemplative. "It's odd to talk to Mileena in this way, too."

There are both silent for a minute or two, surrounded by the constant thrum of the warp engines and the rhythmic pulsing of the dialyzer.

"Do you need any time off," said the chief engineer, breaking the silence awkwardly in a tone that suggested she didn't quite know what else to do. "I know Chakotay usually in charge of staffing but, hell, you're on my team. You all been working nonstop and I see what you do when you, you know, work the console." She gestured towards the Ensign's hands, healed now but often charred or bleeding.

"Thank you Lieutenant, but no. I'll take a little time off when she's out of here."

"I'll hold you to that, Ensign." The lieutenant stood up and tugged down her uniform. She gave what seemed to be an uncomfortable, albeit approving, nod. "As you were."

The lieutenant strode out, leaving Lauren to her thoughts. At least, until the next person came in to bring her troubles to the foot of the bioneural console. Then, at the end of her shift, she locked down the entire lab before Alice came in. She dropped the forcefield between herself and Mileena, pulled over a chair and sat helplessly next to her friend. Then, she'd spill all the secrets and fears that she had, while idly brushing the ringlets away from Mileena's thinning face or carefully examining the flesh borders of the ports. She wouldn't use the transmitters to speak and instead, she would fill the room with the sound of her voice and her very presence, hoping this would be enough to convince Mileena that when this is all over, she should come back. Then, Lauren would leave too.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

By his own choosing, the Doctor was an infrequent visitor to the conference room. While he was considered senior staff and valued member of the crew, he preferred remaining in Sickbay, where he could make the most difference with the least aggravation. And, he said with some internal consternation, it was unlikely that the crew of Voyager would listen to his protestations over various military maneuvers that would inevitably lead to loss of life and limb. Thus, he busied himself with scientific research, academic pursuits, and of course, his writing until the rarefied occasions where he was specifically requested. This was one such situation.

Voyager was still a week away from the edge of Botha space and still under siege by the flailing attackers, but talk had already turned towards what they would do once they were safe. The Erez promised to bring them to what was the most luxurious, most beautiful relaxation colony in their space, all-expenses-paid of course. Relative aesthetics notwithstanding, Captain Janeway had agreed the crew needed some extended shore leave after what amounted to almost two months of constant barrages. This had been in no small part due to the Doctor's private observation to the captain that the psychological scars wrought by the Botha hallucination would once again take some time to heal. The few snippets of conversation he overheard from many crewmembers suggested the majority of the hallucinations had been drastically unpleasant this time around. Perhaps it was vengeance for the humiliation Voyager had wrought on the Botha the first time they had met.

However, the task at hand did not concern the general welfare of the crew. Instead, the Doctor found himself being the bearer of bad news relating to a specific individual, namely the Ensign Mileena Irae. The Doctor handed a padd of his observations to the Captain and regarded the somber faces of the senior staff, plus the trio of ensigns who had work so closely with Mileena. His results from his study in the proteomics lab would not be to anyone's, most especially the captain's, liking. The flickering of uncomfortable emotions around the table confirmed his prediction. Well, as a hologram, he experienced no such conflict in the face of hard data. With that thought in mind, he began his presentation.

"As you can see, prolonged exposure to the machine at maximal gain has generated a number of significant physiological changes in Mileena. Her body has formed large internal fibrous connections with the implants that include new axonal growths. In addition, a significant volume of new cortical neurons, usually unheard of in an adult, have been generated and are now integrated into the brain transmitters."

"So she's growing into the ship," said the Captain slowly, "and the ship is growing into her."

The Doctor assented. "Yes. While the original model did predict some amount of reciprocal physical interaction between the implants and her body, this degree of conductivity was not expected. The Ensign and I had discussed methods of disconnecting the implants from her body once the six-month experimental period completed, but it would seem that we will need to embark on a much more ambitious program once she has been separated, if we can remove the hardware at all. The bigger problem, however, is the cognitive connection."

"Cognitive," said the captain, with more urgency.

"Indeed, captain. I have determined that approximately 20% of her normal neural function is now being handled by CRE and, to a lesser extent, the main computer. Much of her prefrontal cortex is behaving in a way usually associated with sensory function, but based on the crew's report, it does not seem that she has become less logical or otherwise impaired. She is merely improving the efficiency of her mind by using the computer."

"So if you disconnect her at this point, we risk leaving her brain-damaged, or permanently comatose," stated the captain, her voice low and troubled.

Most of the room would suspect she was merely concerned for the safety and health of their fellow crew member, but he knew better. The captain's personal tie to the young woman was weighing heavily on her mind, though he trusted his captain enough to know she would never makes a significant a choice based on anything less than objectivity. Except, he amended to himself, when she added a fair amount of emotion as she saw appropriate, but always for the betterment of the crew, and never for her personal gain.

"Given how much of her cortical function would remain outside of her body, that is the most likely outcome," said the Doctor. "In light of this, the initial protocol established by Seven of Nine and Commander Chakotay would need to be significantly altered to compensate for this recent development."

"How long do you think we have until the process is completely irreversible," inquired Chakotay. He had been designated, unwisely in the Doctor's opinion, as one of the people who would guide the ensign out of the console once Mileena's services were no longer needed. Well, he was about to be deeply disappointed.

"To be honest, I'm not completely certain. Ordinarily, I would say there might be a way to initiates a recession of neural growth coupled with some sort of data transfer through the bioneural network, but there is another wrinkle, as you might say."

He gestured to Ensign Powell, who assented with a nervous nod of her head. She had come to him with an observation of her own that he could not confirm, so the data she had gathered were suspect. However, this was her area of expertise and he was willing to take the opinion of a layperson, in spite of his better instincts. Therefore, she had been brought to his meeting with the senior staff. He hoped she wouldn't embarrass herself.

"Over the time, Mileena has spent in the machine, I have noticed that she is becoming less human. It's easier to talk to her in some ways because," Ensign Powell paused and shook her head. "It's… It's hard to explain."

The Doctor momentarily regretted allowing her to speak, as she was not presenting her case adequately, but she found her voice once again. "I send a command and it is handled immediately. More efficiently than before. But there's no emotion behind it. Before, it was like speaking with a friend who instantly understood what I needed and took great pleasure in assisting me. Now, she's more and more becoming just a very responsive computer. There's no humor and no conversation. It's not her in there anymore"

Although it was Chakotay who spoke, the Doctor kept his eyes on the captain. There, beneath her implacable command façade, he saw tiny lines of sadness and regret. "So you're saying it may be too late already."

The ensign didn't respond immediately, and when she did, it was a careful lie. "I am not equipped to say, sir." Which, the Doctor took to mean, yes. Ensign Powell believed it was absolutely too late. The Doctor, therefore, picked up her train of thought.

"We cannot be sure, commander, but obviously every day we leave Ensign Irae in the console makes successful disconnection less likely. It is my recommendation as her doctor that this experiment be stopped immediately."

The captain turned to her senior crew when he finished speaking. "B'Elanna, Tuvok. Do you believe there is a way we can continue through Botha space without using the bioneural console to shield the ship or redirect the transmitters."

"The Yazh are now willing to share their technology. However, we will still need to outfit Voyager with the appropriate shield emitters before we can make the transformation. This will take several days. It will also leave the Erez and Cru unprotected, as I doubt the Yazh will extend their technology to what they perceive as rival races," stated the Vulcan security officer.

"We will also lose the ability to remove the transmitters from the hull," remarked Harry Kim, unasked as usual. "I've compiled sensor readings from the past few attacks. Shortly after we left the sector, there were a chain of explosions in the satellite belts surrounding the star system, probably from the manned ships opening fire on their own defenses. Your plan is working, Captain. The Botha are attacking themselves." His face was lit up with excitement, completely inappropriate given the serious subject matter at hand. Leave it to Harry to get distracted in the face of such seriousness.

"And I have heard from the Erez captain that other races near Botha space are experiencing fewer attacks since we have been redirecting Botha transmitters. He reports a few races are thinking of banding together to push back against the threat," added Chakotay, a mixture of hope and concern in his somber voice. "We seemed to be turning the tide against the Botha."

The Doctor watched the captain slowly rise from the table and walk to the window. She rested one pale hand on the bulkhead and bent her head. He knew the stance well, as he had watched her wrestle with so many issues while gazing at the streaks of stars for inspiration.

"Throughout human history, we have held true to the tenant of putting the greater good above the individual. Every Starfleet officer understands she may make the ultimate sacrifice to defend the Federation. And Ensign Irae has shown over and over again that she is ready to preserve Voyager at the cost of her own life. But do we have sufficient cause to ask that from her right now?"

"The Botha had inflicted tremendous damage on the people in this sector," said B'Elanna urgently. "This might be the first time in decades that these races have a chance to fight back. If we stop now, we risk both the other ships and the futures of their people. Certainly she would agree to that."

The captain's eyes fluttered downwards, still troubled and contemplative. "Voyager is in the Delta Quadrant because we looked at the future of the Kazon and the Ocampa and determined, without hesitation, that our intervention was what stood between them and a terrible future. We do not have that surety now. There is no one in this room who can say that the difference between failure and success against the Botha lies in the number of single sorties against their defenses. So we are asking Ensign Irae to sacrifice her humanity, which she loved and clung to so deeply, for a hypothetical tactical advantage."

She focused her eyes, piercing blue and determined, on each member of the crew. At times like this, the Doctor admired the strength and direction of his captain. She had come to a conclusion that would be unshakable in its rationale and unquestionable by the crew.

"I value the lives of my crew enough that not one of you, not any of you, will be used as currency to buy half measures against our foes. The Botha have taken enough from us. They will not claim one more crew member." She took a quick breath and looked at Tuvok. "Inform the other ships that we can no longer continue to redirect the transmitters. Have the Yazh make preparations to teleport their technicians onto Voyager and the other vessels as soon as we drop out of warp. Reassure them that their technology will be removed and all plans deleted as soon as we leave Botha space."

The dark Vulcan nodded. "Yes, Captain."

"Mister Kim, work with the technicians on the Yazh ship…but be discreet. We need to convince them that were not taking away their only tactical advantage."

"Of course, Captain," said the young man, clasping his hands in front of him in restrained excitement. The Doctor suppressed a groan, but recognized that Harry Kim was perfect for this job. His lack of guile and absolute awkwardness in every situation made him seem completely nonthreatening, which is exactly what this task required.

"B'Elanna, keep trying to find a way to offload as much of the shielding as possible onto the main computer without drawing on Ensign Irae. Use the detachable elements of the bioneural network as the base for your work."

The engineer responded affirmatively. Tentatively entering the conversation, Ensign Powell asked, "Would you like Ensign Baytart, Ensign Soohoo, and I to help mimic the signal? We are able to interface with the bioneural gel without going through Mileena."

Janeway shook her head. "No. I will not transfer this burden simply because it does less damage. No one else will be sacrificed for this cause. Work with engineering to reconfigure the components but otherwise do not attach yourself to the machinery." The young woman whispered an "Aye, Captain," pale beneath the unwavering gaze of her Captain.

"Doctor. Seven. I need you to begin designing a protocol that will disengage Ensign Irae from the bioneural console. Find a way to access the Ensign's consciousness and see if she is aware of a way to detach herself from the machinery."

The Doctor looked at the Borg, who nodded curtly to him. "Yes, Captain," he replied. "I will keep you informed."

Captain surveyed her crew once again. "Thank you. Dismissed."

The crew filtered out to their various duties, with Chakotay lingering behind, probably asking the Captain why he hadn't been told to do something. The Doctor was about to return to Sickbay when Chakotay put up a hand to stop him. Seven of Nine also stayed behind, and they clustered near the Doctor in a way he found very uncomfortable.

"Captain," said Chakotay, "we need to discuss part of the detachment protocol."

The Captain frowned and then looked puzzled. "What about it?"

A laden glance was exchanged between the Borg and the dark-haired commander. Seven looked hesitant and slightly embarrassed. The Doctor realized she was struggling with some sort of internal conflict and not, for once, about her own place in Voyager or some social matter.

"The original protocol called for Chakotay and I to be present when Ensign Irae terminated her connection with the bioneural network," said Seven, her matter-of-fact voice colored slightly by discomfort. She clasped her hands behind her and tilted her blond head down to match the Captain's gaze. "At the time, I agreed. However, on further reflection, I believe this is not the best course of action."

"How so," said the Captain, not divulging any other emotion besides very restrained curiosity.

"I believe that you are the superior choice for interacting with Ensign Irae." The Borg looked to the side, and fidgeted very slightly, like a child being forced to tattle on one of her friends. "You were indispensable during my separation from the Borg. You helped me understand and regain my humanity. I found your presence very…reassuring. I am not equipped to offer that kind of emotional support."

Her manner resumed its normal blunt confidence. "Of course, once the ensign is more acclimated, I will be able to instruct her on how best to operate without the constant input from the computers. That skill I possess."

Janeway's smile was soft and wistful. She put a hand on the Borg's tall shoulder. "I believe you are equipped to offer a wide variety of support, Seven, and that you do yourself a disservice when you doubt what you could do for the ensign."

"Nevertheless," countered the Borg, "I believe this is the correct course of action. Commander Chakotay supports this decision in spite of the ensign's strenuous objections at the time."

Janeway's eyebrows nearly leapt off her forehead and she pivoted towards her first officer. "Really?"

The Maquis commander's gaze was, thought the Doctor, inscrutable and full of depth. And the voice that emitted from his stolid face was more somber than even the Doctor expected.

"Yes, Captain. You, more than anyone else, can help her understand what she needs to do to become herself once again. You share a deep connection and will be able to reach her in ways that neither Seven nor I can."

The Doctor expected him to elaborate, but the commander was unusually taciturn and said, "I am going to assist Tuvok with the negotiations. Thank you, Captain. Please let us know what you decide."

The Captain dropped her stunned expression and returned to her normal command posture. "Of course, Chakotay. Seven. Dismissed."

The two crewmembers exited to the bridge, leaving the Captain and the Doctor alone in the conference room. She didn't acknowledge him and walked back over to the window, rubbing her head once again and looking for answers beyond Voyager.

The Doctor decided to take a proactive approach. "I believe your decision about the bioneural console was unbiased and the correct course of action, both medically and ethically. I also believe Commander Chakotay's assessment is accurate and I will incorporate his suggestion into whatever protocol I…we…develop."

The captain did not respond, but the Doctor noticed her posture sagged and her head dropped just a bit more. He thought about inquiring as to her thoughts, but reconsidered. There was something she needed to say and, for once, his counsel would not provide her with easy answers. Finally, she broke the silence.

"How can I offer her anything? I rejected her," said the captain, her voice barely above a whisper and gravelly with emotion. "She came to me and I turned her away."

The Doctor was unperturbed. He had assumed this was the logical outcome of their initial interactions, as he had detected no increase in happiness in either the captain or the ensign since the two had become aware of their mutual attraction.

"You will not this time," he said firmly. "Somewhere in that machine is a woman whose feelings for you have not diminished, no matter what the ensigns say. I also know that you have unsuccessfully rid yourself of your own desire, which I consider an acceptable failure. And regardless of your bond, you are still an expert in what it means to be human. Part of that is caring deeply for someone who has lost her humanity and who so desperately wants to find it again, even if it means causing one or both of you pain."

The captain did not acknowledge him, nor did he expect her to. Instead, the Doctor ended simply, "I will be in Sickbay if you need me."

He returned to the comfortable, brightly lit environment of Sickbay and began pouring over everything he knew about machine – organic interfaces to see if there is a way to undo what Mileena had done.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Kathryn Janeway lay in her bed and contemplated, once again, the smooth contours of the bulkhead above her. She had retired at the end of beta shift and collapsed almost immediately due to sheer exhaustion, but her rest had been fitful and now she found herself painfully awake and unable to drift off once again. She ticked off, as a way of calming herself, all the progress being made on her ship. They were nearly out of the Botha space and experiencing far fewer attacks as a result. The Yazh were reluctantly providing their technology and a handful of their engineers were working with her own staff to make the modifications for all four vessels. The crew was no longer experiencing ill effects from the Botha hallucinations and Voyager was returning to some semblance of normal, as much as it could while still under siege. Yet she knew the main source of her insomnia, as it had been on too many other occasions. The woman for whom she developed such strong emotions, the beautiful dark Mileena, was very possibly lost her forever because they had both taken a tremendous risk for the good of the crew.

Janeway curled herself up around her pillow, pushed the thoughts out of her head, and forced her thoughts towards topics more conducive to sleep. She tried cataloguing plasma conduits by deck and reorganizing the periodic table by element name instead of chemical properties, but it was no use. Her mind fixated completely on the half Trill's presence within the computer, both physical and mental. What might it mean for Mileena's disconnection and the relationship, whatever it might be, with the captain should the young woman emerge? There was the matter of the reawakening itself. Did she and Mileena actually share an unspoken, true connection that could awaken Mileena from her computer dream? Chakotay had not spoken that thought aloud and perhaps he meant the bond that Janeway had with every crewmember, for she knew each one of them would gladly give their lives for her and trust her implicitly. But perhaps he meant the romantic inclination that tortured Janeway and, likely, Mileena in turn. Perhaps he knew something that she very desperately tried to keep secret.

She had broken that silence about her relationship with Mileena to the Doctor for the first time in weeks but that gave her no peace. His words did not reassure her and she went over and over her decision in a way the crew would never suspect. She was always resolute when she chose for the crew, all deliberations called off the moment she put a plan in action. They never knew that she would spend many moments in deep contemplation and reconsider what she had chosen to make sure that no element of bias had colored her judgment nor that she had broken some tenet of Starfleet or overlooked some crucial information. Janeway could not imagine sacrificing any member of her crew in this way under any circumstance that was not so dire and so critical that it would otherwise cost the ship. Would she have given it more deliberation though had she not so desperately wanted to hear Mileena's voice once more or to catch her eyes in the hallway and exchange some little sentence of connection? Would she have allowed the project to continue to the end of Botha space had she not longed for another chance to wrap the woman in her arms and let her own pale skin flush red with desire against the ensign's live and beautiful form?

This brought on the terrible memory of the Botha hallucination, the outrageously erotic moment she shared with the ensign coupled with the subsequent horror and desecration of Mileena's body and essence. Janeway had been rapidly assured, once the Botha's hallucinations broke, that Mileena had sustained no physical injury and that her personal hallucination had passed more quickly than those of the rest of the crew. But the nagging doubt remained. What demons did that the older woman see behind her eyes before she evicted the Botha from her consciousness…or was Mileena gifted with a beautiful, erotic encounter of her own?

The exhausted captain sat up in her bed and pinned her wafting red hair up on top of her head with a concerned palm, then let it drop. She rubbed her eyes and checked the chronometer. 0200 hrs. Certainly not a time for her to be awake if she wanted to continue successfully through Botha space. But she couldn't just keep lying here, turning what if's and futures over in her mind futilely. She rolled out of her bed with a groan and dressed in a set of pale blue and gray civilian clothes before making her decision to take a walk to clear her head. Perhaps she would visit the holodeck and spend some time walking through rolling Irish Hills, conversing with some philosopher whose droning treaties might put her back into a drowsy mood.

Naturally, she found her feet at the door to proteomics. She hesitated before it and then sighed. No one would question the captain going to check on one of the largest projects on the ship. No one would doubt that she were there for anything other than professional courtesy. And certainly, the captain's reputation as being a workaholic would not raise any suspicion as to her reasons for being awake so late at night and visiting a scientific lab. And yet, she stood there hesitating, coming up with excuses should anyone discover her, before tapping in the codes to disable the layers of forcefields around the lab.

To her surprise, she found that no forcefields were in place and the door to proteomics slid open with a quiet whoosh. The outer lab was dimly lit by consoles running background processes while their various operators slept or attended to other duties. But the wet lab was inhabited, and not just by the object of Kathryn's desire. Beside the still, impaled form of Mileena sat Ensign Soohoo, curled up on one of the other console chairs and reading aloud from a padd she held in one hand. The other hand rested gently on the edge of Mileena's right arm, not enough to disturb where the probes were fixed into Mileena's body, but still giving the impression that the petite blue-clad woman was holding her friend's hand and chatting with her.

Ensign Soohoo twitched slightly when the captain entered the room and, carefully avoiding the equipment, stood at attention as the captain entered. "Captain," she said rapidly. "How may I help you?"

Janeway tasted that odd dislike she had of the young woman and swallowed it with a smile. "At ease, ensign. I recognized I had not been down here since shortly after the Botha attack and wanted to check on the bioneural console." She realized it was a lame excuse and mentally checked off all the potential questions. Couldn't you do that during duty hours? Why would she do it in the middle of the night? She formulated the rest of her explanation.

"I hoped to find a time when the bioneural console would be under less stress so that I didn't disturb any of the remaining work being done while we attempted the disengagement protocol."

The ensign did not sit down and clutched the padd tighter until her pear-colored knuckles went white. Perhaps Ensign Soohoo also felt dislike for the Captain but did not have the luxury of rank with which to indulge that emotion. Her dark eyes never left the captain's face and her breathing became shallow and rapid, enough that Janeway was mildly concerned.

"Is everything okay, Ensign," asked Janeway, attempting to ascertain the source of the ensign's distress.

"Permission to speak freely, ma'am."

That was never a good sign, especially from such a junior officer. "Well, given the time of night, I suppose that's inevitable." She attempted to break the mood with a little wry humor that was absolutely lost on the woman in front of her. On both women in front of her.

The ensign took a breath and steadied her voice even if her body betrayed her emotion. "I have heard about the protocol changes and I do not agree with them. I do not believe that you are the correct person to guide Mileena out of the bioneural console."

Janeway was torn between surprise at both the nature of the message and how frankly it was being conveyed. However, Janeway was not in the habit of breaking agreements and she understood that speaking freely did allow ensigns to give their opinions, no matter how ill received they might be. So Janeway employed her usual diplomacy instead of informing the ensign that she was relieved of duty and should spend some time alone, confined to quarters, reconsidering how she would speak to the captain in the future.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, ensign, but this is a matter that I have discussed with Chakotay and Seven of Nine. They both feel that I will be able to bring her back from the console."

"And not me," said the ensign flatly. "And not Pablo. And not Lauren. Even though we have been her friends for five years and we had shared so much with her. Even though we have taken her from death to life a half-dozen times, mourned our friends together, suffered and loved with each other. We are being excluded…for what? Are we just not good enough?"

The trembling woman in front of her shook a little bit more and Janeway saw tears beginning to pull at the signs of her eyes. She noticed that the transmitters that Soohoo had worn previously were nowhere to be found and that CRE seemed unusually dormant given the close proximity of two of its strongest operators.

Janeway took a few steps closer, less angry and shocked than saddened. "Mileena herself created those protocols and targeted Chakotay and Seven as the people who should initiate them. And, as I have come to know her, I believe she wanted to spare you from witnessing whatever might happen when she was detached from the machine." The young woman did not respond and Janeway inched a little closer, not knowing what she wanted to achieve, only that being nearby was the correct answer.

"I watched Lauren helped Mileena from that chair after the Erato battle. I watch them both suffer. I know Mileena cares about you and, in her promises to Chakotay when she reevaluated the protocols, said she didn't want to hurt you anymore. She is entrusting us with this task because, in some ways, she knows we can absorb her suffering because we do not feel it as acutely."

In her heart, Janeway knew that sentence was half a lie. Janeway had felt every second of that breathless suffering during the defrosting as keenly as if she were experiencing it herself and suspected that the growing emotions she felt for Mileena would soon equal, and maybe surpass, what Mileena's many friends felt for her.

Ensign Soohoo dropped her head and sat down again, placing the padd on her lap. The captain walked forward and brought one of the chairs next to the forcefield that separated the two compartments. All dislike for the young woman had faded away and now Janeway busied herself trying to console somebody who is suffering in a way that Janeway understood all too well.

"I know how painful this is for you," said Janeway. "I know it is like to watch someone battle for her life and to feel absolutely helpless to aid in any way."

Tears flowed openly down the ensign's rounded cheeks and tapped onto the blue of her uniform in darkening pools. "I felt her slipping away. Every day, a little less of her was there to talk to. Every day, the emotions dimmed and the chatter quieted. I always suspected this would happen, that she would embrace the machine more than she embraced her outside world." She didn't raise her head and she continued.

"Mileena always had this place of darkness that she hinted at. Not just the death of her lab or her isolation from her family. Something more, something the terrified her and shamed her by the same measure. Something that feeds all that doubt and self-loathing, not matter how much she tried to cloak it in scientific devotion. Sometimes I wondered if that was why she loved the console so much: perhaps it gave her something that humanity could not."

Janeway folded her hands in her lap and leaned forward, but did not interrupt the Ensign, who was crying openly in front of the older women. "I've tried so hard to keep her here. I've tried to read to her and tell her stories to bring her back. The three of us… Pablo, Lauren, and I… are stationed at the bioneural console to monitor her, but what I do is I bring in exobiology data and I read it out loud and I try to make her work through it with me, to keep her talking instead of just processing." She took in a very long shuddering breath. "But I took off the transmitters when I realized she wasn't listening anymore." And with that the young woman collapsed into tears and sobbed while Janeway's heart broke in front of her.

The captain spoke slowly and firmly, both to reassure the ensign and herself. "I will do everything in my power to make sure that she is here again. I trust the Doctor and I trust Seven of Nine and I trust Chakotay. Just as you trust Ensign Baytart and Ensign Powell and Ensign Irae."

"And what if it fails," was the desperate reply. "Will you leave her attached or come in here and initiate the final break command to spare her from being completely lost in the bioneural network?"

Janeway had not seriously considered the possibility but now it was there, nakedly in front of her. Janeway didn't realize she had been inadvertently keeping her eyes on the onyx eyed Korean ensign and not daring to look at Mileena. But now she let her pale blue eyes rest on the reclining form of the half – Trill and she understood a little bit more of the fears. The skin around Mileena's face had sunken in, accenting her high cheekbones and broad nose in a discomfiting way. The ports on her arms and hands, once gleaming, polished metal, had been partially covered by bands of fibrous tissue and were speckled with tiny bits of dried fluid. The ringlets of dark hair had become lusterless and brittle at the edges. Beneath the dark lashed, bronze eyelids, Mileena's eyes were still, not dreaming as they had the past. No whispers came from her full lips. No involuntary twitches from her fingertips. Just a silent, reclining form affixed to machinery that was stealing her mind.

But in spite of what she saw, Janeway continued to comfort both of them. "If that is the case, we will consult at that time. But I do not intend for it to reach that point and we will make every effort possible to bring her back to all of us."

Alice had composed herself and discreetly wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. "Understood, Captain. I apologize for breaking down." Her demeanor was, not quite icy, but reserved in a way that conveyed fear of repercussions.

"I find that late at night, emotions that we can often suppress successfully bubbled to the surface, even if we are used to working gamma shift." She hoped her smile did not feel forced, because Janeway suddenly perceived those same emotions rising from deep within her own chest.

The ensign, though, did not notice and instead stood up and placed the padd on the chair behind her. "Captain, may I go freshen up?"

"Of course, ensign. Is there anything in particular that needs to be done while you're here?"

"No, Captain. It's just an analysis of the Agok and Splenit data and a model I'm building of the chances that they will double back to either attack us or each other."

"Good. I look forward to the report when it is ready."

The ensign dropped the forcefields and stepped unsteadily out into the outer lab. She brushed by the captain without speaking again, leaving the captain alone with Mileena for the first time in so many weeks. The captain stood up and reinitialized the forcefield, then reconsidered, dropped it once more, and entered the wet lab. She raised it once again in deference to Mileena's exceptional security protocols, though she realized now that they had likely moved past the point where mere contamination was the true risk.

She reached out a tentative hand to the ensign and gently brushed her fingertips across one arching cheekbone, letting it linger on the side of the ensign's face and hoping against hope that Mileena would flutter her eyes open and smile back at the captain. But the ensign did not stir and the captain pulled her hand away, embarrassed at the intrusion. Janeway wanted to go back to her quarters to reflect on this encounter and indulge her own fears, but instead she waited for slight, still trembling Soohoo to come back. Then, she carefully broached the topic of the ensign's work and the two of them engaged in an awkward, but diverting, conversation about the potential outcomes Voyager could face once they exited Botha space.

Somehow they stayed like this, their voices rising and falling above the subtle humming of the dialyzer, until alpha shift was called. The captain excused herself to prepare for the rest of the day. Back in her quarters, though, she sat down on her couch and clenched her fists to keep from expressing her private fears about the outcome of Mileena's experiment, bit back tears and rivers of doubt. Then she donned her uniform and command façade, and strode confidently down to the mess hall, never letting anyone know just how much she wanted Mileena.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

"The protocols aren't working," said Chakotay, frustration and resignation ringing in his dark voice as he stood outside the wet lab and tapped CRE's main interface. "We've tried various break commands that don't invoke the physical disconnection of the ensign from the system. We've tried reprogramming the bioneural gel and back signaling a neurogenic pulse but the input is being ignored.

"Did you allow one of the ensigns to use the direct interface?" Janeway's eyes were a troubled, stormy grey and her Irish heritage flushed her skin pink under its smattering of rarely-viewed freckles. She had told everyone to stop using any sort of direct interface, but recognized that this was a last-ditch effort. Therefore, she did not reprimand Seven of Nine when she stated, "Yes. It was the most logical course of action. I closely monitored Ensign Powell and did not detect any increased load on CRE or any disturbance of Mileena's remaining cortical function. We disconnected shortly thereafter. The joining was a failure."

"And what of the Doctor's attempts at forming some sort of rejection program or reverse data transfer?"

"As unsuccessful as if I attempted to download my holomatrix into Harry Kim's brain," he said flatly, with only a tinge of sardonic humor rather than his full possible range. "She has become enough machine that conventional techniques may not work."

The room was silent they all stared inside at the reclining ensign, who lay heedlessly processing data and unaware of the turmoil outside.

"May I suggest an unconventional approach, captain," said Tuvok suddenly.

"Any ideas are better than no ideas," said the captain, keeping a fierce lid on whatever emotions threatened to break through her control of the situation.

"I could use a mind meld to create a telepathic bridge between you and the ensign." Eyebrows went up around the room and Tuvok looked at all of them, seemingly not comprehending their surprise. "All of our attempts have been technological, routed through the bioneural computer. Perhaps, if we access the ensign's human and half – Trill side, we may be able to convey to her what we need her to do and whether it will be possible."

The captain looked at Tuvok and nodded her head. "I'm willing to try it. Seven, monitor the output from the bioneural console and alert us if there's any change or destabilization. Doctor, monitor Ensign Irae's remaining cortical function. If you see any worsening, have us break the link. Tuvok, initiate the mind meld when you are ready."

"Captain," said the Vulcan. "I believe the meld would be most effective if you were to participate."

Janeway did not object and instead moved closer to both him and the ensign. "Very well. I am ready."

Tuvok placed one hand on the side of her face and one on the side of Mileena's face. "My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts," he droned, closing his eyes. Janeway closed her eyes as well and let his words and his telepathy carry her beyond her own consciousness into what she hoped would be Mileena's mind.

She opened her eyes within the telepathic link and stood next to Tuvok on what appeared to be a dreamlike interpretation of a deck on Voyager. The bulkheads were translucent and distorted, shot through with glittering gold, blue, and silver wires that extended in every direction, giving the appearance that Tuvok and Janeway were standing in the middle of a fractured gem. Flashes of silver light and sparkles of gold ran across the meshwork. Voices and swirling sound, flickering stars and whirring planets, streams of characters and fragments of pixels appeared and vanished within the lattice.

Tuvok tilted his ebony face towards the ceiling…no, sky, and Janeway watched the lights reflect across his forehead. "It seems we are in the midst of Mileena's perception of the bioneural interface."

"But where is she," Janeway asked. The glitter of gold washed over her eggshell colored skin and she began to walk forward.

As they moved across the deck, the floor behind them fell away. The path in front of them became an endless sloping ramp disappearing into the glimmering network, leading nowhere that gave a hint as to where Mileena's consciousness might reside. The sounds around them were indistinct and muddled, but if Janeway strained her ears, she could recognize the voices of her crew, including her own voice and that of Mileena. Commands, conversations, laughter. How many were memories and how many were occurring at the moment she could not tell.

Spheres of yellow and the sphere of red coalesced in front of the Vulcan and the human. The orbs circled their bodies a few times, flitted around their frames, and then retreated. To Janeway's surprise, the walls enclosed them and pair now stood within a conventional Voyager corridor. Janeway cocked one auburn eyebrow at her security officer. "It seems we've been discovered."

"Indeed."

The orbs began wafting down the hallway slowly enough for the Captain and the Lieutenant to follow them until they reached the door to proteomics. It slid open but the interior was obscured by what looked to be infinite layers of green and blue forcefields, overlapping like translucent sheets of silk. The red orb passed through them easily but the yellow one waited outside. Tuvok turned to his superior officer. "I believe this is the indication, Captain, that I should remain behind. I will continue to monitor the mind meld from here. "

"Acknowledged, Mister Tuvok." Janeway reached out a hand and walked into the forcefield. Her skin was electrified as she passed through the layers of energy, eventually reaching the entry to the wet lab.

Mileena sat there, crosslegged on the heavy chair, but the rest of the room was open to the mental representation of bioneural network behind her. The cloud of her black hair merged seamlessly with twisting ribbons of color streaming from where the bioneural transmitters would have resided on her skull. The intertwining fibers vanished into the network and rivulets of color flashed up and down them as Mileena spoke silently to the computers around her. The ensign herself looked much like she did in life when she was healthy and whole. Her citrine eyes, the bronze of her skin, the full and curving lips that smiled, but only just, as the captain approached. Mileena's arms rested on the sides of the heavy chair where the probes in her arm were instead intricate braids, tinged red where they passed into the Ensign's skin. The skin patterning of the Trill people, absent on in the real world, started behind Mileena's ears and ran down the nape of her neck. The dark spots disappeared under a sleeveless khaki shift that draped across her body and pooled around the chair.

Janeway had never seen the young woman so beautiful or so at peace in the months they had known each other. She looked neither tired nor stretched thin, which were her two constant states of being when on Voyager. No doubt. No need. No hurt, longing, or uncertainty. A self more true than Mileena could find in her waking world.

"Mileena," said the Captain.

The figure in front of her did not answer. Another river of silver ran to and from the ensign's body and the sky above them flashed with energy and activity.

"Do you understand me," the captain asked.

The figure gave an unmistakable nod and let more colors and sounds run through her body.

"Do you know I am here?"

Between the captain and Mileena, an image formed, nebulous and translucent like an ancient hologram. It was the array of Botha ships they had encountered, motherships and robots, the various stolen vessels that Voyager had turned against the Botha people. And within them, an image of Voyager under siege. Blue beams rippled across the surface, most likely representing the tractor and transporter that Mileena so artfully controlled.

The captain shook her head vigorously. "No, Voyager is safe. I'm here about you."

The scene vanished and was replaced by a fuzzy image of Mileena in the chair, but reclining and impaled on the machinery. The figure was distorted slightly, the probes overly large in the body shrunken in some places. Perhaps the ensign was conscious that she was losing herself.

"Yes."

There was no change, again, in either the ensign's posture or the image between them. Janeway didn't even know how to begin the next part of the conversation.

"Ensign." She stopped. They were within Mileena's mind; formalities were unneeded. "Mileena, you are moving your consciousness into the computers and out of your body. We worry that we will never be able to detach you from the bioneural console without your help."

The image of Mileena disappeared and the concept of Mileena bowed its head. Another flash ran from her and Kathryn looked up. Among the massive sparkling yellow meshwork and cooler, smaller blue lattice was a green and black net, one that wound its way around Mileena's head like a woven crown. As Kathryn watched, the crown inched upward moment by moment, growing and extending itself farther into the computers. Not only did Mileena understand that she was within the consciousness of the computers. She was encouraging it, forcing herself more and more into their network.

"You are aware of this." No response save an infinitesimal movement of the mesh of her cortical function. "Mileena, when you came to me you told me how much you love your humanity and how much you never wanted to sacrifice those parts. But now here you are, adrift in the machinery, giving yourself willingly." Kathryn's tone took on a more pleading, more demanding tone. "Why? Tell me."

The ensign looked up and a blue yellow flash roared out of her eyes. Suddenly, Kathryn was in a tiny, freezing cold, and black space. The void thundered around her and the sound of shredding metal overcame her senses. She felt fear and rage and agony. But then something else, and not just the experience of Mileena in those terrible moments when the lab had fallen away. A worse fear in some ways. Shame and loneliness. A secret that she could not tell but one that Kathryn felt stalking her. The dark space was no longer the isolated wet lab but a tiny corner where Mileena crouched deep in her mind, knowing she could not hide for long. Something was coming and Kathryn could not see it, but she knew it and she did not want to be near it anymore. Janeway recognized that behind all of the voices she could hear while she moved through the mind meld, there was a constant and low screaming. The dark place that Ensign Soohoo had mentioned.

The image washed away and she could hear Tuvok's voice around her. "Captain, are you alright? The Doctor has detected high levels of neural activity within the ensign's hippocampus and amygdala."

The captain looked at the ensign, whose expression flickered between anger and fear. "I'm fine, Tuvok. I'm just gaining understanding."

Kathryn walked towards the foot of the heavy chair, knelt down, and held out her hand, the pink of her fingertips reaching towards the ocher shades of the woman in front of her. Mileena was a radiant goddess among her stars and Janeway an acolyte, no, a supplicant at her temple.

"I know that you fear the terrible loneliness. I know that there is something that you cannot tell me that isolates you from everything around you. But let me try to keep you from that," said Kathryn gently. And she meant it. She wanted to chase that loneliness away with her voice, and her heart, and her body. She wanted to walk along the beach that Mileena had spoken of and make love next to a waterfall, surrounded by the sounds of the wilderness beside them. Slightly belatedly, she realized that she was in a mind meld with both her Vulcan officer and the half-Trill in front of her. The things she hadn't said aloud were easily read by the two others in this bridge. Mileena smiled and a crimson flush came to her bronze cheeks.

The captain composed herself enough to rein in the most rampant emotions and pressed onward. "I know that I turned you away before, but I will never do it again. I want to try this relationship. I want to make a true connection with you. But Mileena, you need to leave this place for us to do it."

Mileena lifted her arms in a mechanical way from the sides of the heavy chair and reached them towards Kathryn. She grasped their fingertips together and ran the calluses of her thumb over the ridges of Kathryn's palms. The smile was replaced by hesitation and the look of doubt. The image swallowed hard and looked around her, the network dim and darkening, shouts and flickers of red surrounded her, the temperature dropped and rose. Mileena shook her head and pushed it away again.

"I know. But I will be there with you," said Kathryn, wanting nothing more than to wrap the young woman in her arms to shield her from whatever was chasing her within. The figure released her hands and put her arms against the sides of the heavy chair, then looked up at the green-black meshwork. It began to recede, ever so slightly. It stopped with a ripple. Mileena winced and shook her head, then took a breath, beginning the process once more, then ceasing it in another jolt.

The captain understood. "Take your time. I'll…we'll be waiting for you."

With a flash of blue and an outstretched arm, the figure of Mileena threw Kathryn from the wet lab and through the forcefields. The captain found herself besides Tuvok once more and then the mind meld dissipated.

"We seem to have been ejected," he observed.

The two officers opened their eyes and looked at each other, then at the quiet figure in front of them. The Doctor ran cortical probe over the ensign's forehead. "The synaptic activity in her cortex has increased by .5%." He moved the probe again. ".6%." He looked at his tricorder again "1.0%."

"I believe you've reached her, Captain," Chakotay hopefully.

The captain nodded. "Yes, I believe so, but it will take some time for her to reintegrate herself into her own body. In the meantime, we wait."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Mileena didn't understand where the screaming was coming from or what the disjointed flashes of color and sound meant. She didn't understand that two sets of arms were holding her in place and that she was trying frantically to rip herself away. She did not know she had been moved from the wet lab or that she had been in Sickbay for two weeks letting her rewired brain recuperate. She did not know they had left the Botha space and were now finishing the last of their shore leave on an ocean planet ringed by three glowing moons. She did not know her sacrifice had been used as a stepping stone to a concerted effort pushing back against the Botha threat.

All she knew was the sudden aloneness and silence where the rest of her had been. Instinctively she moved her mind upwards, to where she had been, no, where they had been, the solid logical masses that had welcomed her so completely. And there was nothing. There was none of their sound, none of their minds. No memories, no data, not a thousand-thousand connections among tiny stars in the beautiful lattice of the network. No communication with the parts of herself that had become parts of them as well. There was only a tiny, finite mind within a body that had forgotten how to be a body.

Her eyes couldn't focus once they were open. Instead, shapes and jagged lines, spooling with whirls of color, coalesced and then collapsed in front of her. But if she shut her eyes, there was the silent darkness no longer punctuated by the glittering silver she had become so accustomed to. It was better to have her eyes open though the visual distortion made her seasick.

The sounds became words that formed and passed into her hearing but never quite reached the level of comprehension. She pushed against that mind, the achingly tiny box in which she suddenly resided, and tried once again to leap into the place that she had so recently been. The only place she wanted to be in the world. But she was blocked. The connection to the other parts of herself, the two computers, was gone. It was agony to be missing, like someone had cleaved her apart and left her with just a head, no body, no self. Whatever had done this would suffer, or at least suffer with her. She fought, again, and once again something held her back.

More sounds that were words, more colors that were voices. These she knew. Even without her trueness, even without the self that was not hers, the voices had their colors. Steely gray in boxes, cool columns of icy blue, and jagged red that somehow she wanted to crawl towards. The screaming stopped and so did the incessant motion. All it took was that redness to keep going. And perhaps it recognized that, because the red never stopped. She could not understand the sounds or the words, but she knew they were coming from somewhere that she…and they who had also been she…needed so much. And it was that way until something forced her back into an empty space that was neither the computers nor herself.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

The Doctor looked over the now unconscious ensign and sighed. He had re-affixed two cortical dampeners and put her back into the medically induced coma where she had resided since her disconnection from the machine. He had believed that a few more days reintegrating without the constant contact with the neural probes would be sufficient to rewire her cortex. The violence of her awakening proved otherwise.

"What happened," asked Chakotay, his voice tinged with worry and his handsome jaw set square. When the ensign had awakened, bolted upright, and started trying to escape, he had grabbed her and held her fast as she ripped and clawed furiously at the air around her. His uniform bore a few tears and a tiny trickle of blood ran down his dark face.

"I hypothesize the lack of external sensory stimulation has left her unable to understand the outside world. It only takes a few days for the visual cortex to adapt itself to complete darkness and, if you recall, her sensory cortex had expanded to encompass much of her frontal lobe. Apparently the depth of reorganization surpassed what I predicted. We will need more time."

The Doctor was loathe to admit an error but of course, this was highly experimental subject matter. Some tweaking of the science was to be expected.

"How long," said the captain. Her face was a single, bloodless line and her posture was rigid. She had watched the reactivation and startled back when the older woman went into a frenzy, letting Tuvok and Chakotay restrain her as best they could until the doctor administered the sedative. Janeway had noticed the ensign struggled less once the captain started talking, an artifact, the Doctor believed, not just of the computer connection but also of Mileena's romantic connection to the captain. Perhaps the captain knew it too but this was not the time to speculate.

"It will depend largely on how much sensory stimulation we can provide her. Sedating her will keep her from hurting herself but it will delay the healing process. We need to expose her to the outside world and let her readapt to seeing through her eyes and hearing through her ears." He moved his tricorder in a sweeping gesture that collected no new data. "There is also the problem of significant muscle and organ wasting after a month essentially motionless. She will need physical rehabilitation and we lack the facilities to adequately address this."

"Then what do you suggest," said the captain. Her voice had that spear point that could drive through his sardonic and supercilious armor.

"The physical rehabilitation can probably be accomplished through a combination of holodeck conditioning programs and physical therapy on the ensign's part. It is likely many of the more primitive habits have been retained." He wanted very desperately not to describe the ensigns toileting habits in front of a mixed crowd and the looks on their faces suggest they did not want to hear about it either. Catheters and other materials had gone out of fashion with the advent of bio bed dialyzers. But as needed he would break out the ancient equipment.

"The sensory reprogramming will take more effort." He reflected on the centuries of data collected by his medical predecessors on how to handle a newly reconfigured brain. This wasn't as simple as a stroke or head trauma that had caused lost brain tissue. Rather, this was a brain whose functions had grown and needed to shrink back into place again. He stroked his rounded chin thoughtfully.

"I believe the best way to handle this will be to provide a limited but constant sensory experiences. Specifically, we could rework the earpieces used in the nightclub program to deliver constant stream of verbal input. Obviously we have hundreds of thousands of vocal clips to draw from."

"And I am certain the crew would be happy to contribute their own messages to her," said Chakotay, interrupting with what the doctor considered a completely superfluous comment. But the Doctor, under the captain's watchful and judgmental eye, decided against anything more unpleasant than a smile.

"Yes, commander. That would provide her something familiar and perhaps enticing to return to." He was staring right at three superior officers but he let his gaze linger slightly on Janeway's face. Certainly her voice would be one Mileena would respond to greatly, though if Janeway wished to respond, she did not do so.

"Rewiring her visual cortex will require more effort. I'm loath to prop her eyes open with some apparatus best left to medieval torture. I'll try first to reduce sedation to the point where she naturally opens her eyes but not so much that she goes into that frenzy of sensory overstimulation. I'll prepare a set of lines and colors to best mimic visual processing and play them through a pair of goggles. I will need someone in engineering to make this modification of course," and Tuvok nodded in assent. "It may take a few days but I believe it will be successful. I had hoped the ensign's brain would be more resilient and more adaptive. We will see…"

He immediately recognized his mistake when Janeway replied in a very disquieting voice, "I believe the ensign has demonstrated remarkable flexibility, adaptability, and capability in her duties to the ship. I would advise you to work with that when you consider her treatment."

The Doctor immediately backpedaled. Any crewmember would quell under her gaze and his holographic self was no different in this case. "Yes, Captain."

"Keep us informed, doctor." Janeway's sentence was dismissive and she led the rest of her team out of Sickbay. The Doctor turned his eyes towards his patient and sighed. He very much hoped these interventions would be successful and not just out of medical concern. The captain's happiness was always on his mind and he could tell some light and hopeful part of her had become quite dimmed over the last month and a half. Perhaps restoring Mileena would bring Janeway completely around. It would take time

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

"Put me back," said Mileena, her voice gravelly and strange to herself. She was fully conscious for the first time in…she could not remember how long. The chaotic sounds and shapes that assaulted her human senses had now resolved into a blurry and discordant variation of what she had experienced before she became part of the machines. The harsh lighting of Sickbay was no longer simultaneously overwhelming and insufficient. Now it illuminated faces and shapes that she could no longer remember. She waded through the mud that was her consciousness to scoop out nouns and verbs.

Using words instead of shapes and knowledge was inefficient, but the people-things in front of her did not know how to speak the language she would rather speak. She needed to display the logic of why she should not be here and instead should be connected to the two other things who were part of herself.

She knew the computers' absence and instinctively sought them out. Her first thought upon waking was to activate the transmitters on either side of her skull. When they did not respond, she lurched forward in an effort to return to proteomics. That was almost instinctual, the draw towards her equipment, the draw towards the rest of herself. She had flailed weakly against the Doctor who tried to stop her, managing to connect with one side of his holographic face and dumping a tray of tools to the floor in the process. His response was to return her to the bio bed, call security, and eventually the captain.

Now Mileena was being supported by two pairs of gold colored uniforms. She did not remember that these two security officers were her friends. She did not recognize the sadness in their eyes as they restrained the hollowed shell of one of their crewmembers.

Mileena was looking into the indistinct face of the petite woman in front of her. The woman's face was familiar and conjured an uncomfortable sensation within Mileena's muddled consciousness. It was an emotion, she recognized. The sensation of not having the computers, the sensation of being where she should not, the sensation of attempting to resolve the shapes into pictures, they all had names. And regardless of how her human self may have felt in the past, emotions were now unfamiliar and uniformly disquieting. She wanted these to go away as much as she wanted to be among the machinery again.

A red, thick voice replied, "We can't do that, Mileena."

"I belong there," growled the ensign, attempting to pull herself from the grips of the young men. All she could muster was a futile effort, her weak and wasted muscles fatigued from the limited effort it had taken her to lurch from the bed.

"No, you belong here, with the people around you. Before you entered the bioneural interface, you made it clear that you wanted to return to humanity. I intend to respect that wish."

"I have changed."

"Perhaps you have," said the face… the captain. "But not so much that I would return you to the machinery so that you lost the rest of yourself."

"Myself is not here. Myself is part of them. Here, it is so alone and so quiet. There I am part of something that is more." She needed to explain this to the faces in front of her. They had to understand she needed to be returned and to be whole. She needed to not exist in this empty, lonely space where the only companion she had was the inside of her mind. She needed to go away from the jumble of sensation that broke over her, leaving her gasping for air and understanding.

"You are within yourself, Mileena. And you are part of something larger. You are part of this crew, you are part of Starfleet, you are part of humanity. You will rediscover this."

"Those things are too small. My home is larger. My home is…infinite." Her mouth and mind were tired from dredging up the words. She could not respond further.

"Your home is here on Voyager. Your home is part of humanity in the minds and hearts of those who know you is larger than any neural network. But for now, you must get acclimated to being a single person."

The captain turned away from the sagging half-Trill and said, "Doctor, have you configured the physical rehabilitation program in the holodeck."

"Yes, Captain." He turned towards the two men whose gentle hands rested on Mileena's shoulders. "I will be initiating a site to site transport. You may let her go."

Before she could react to their release of her body, there were of sounds and colors prickled through her body and she found herself in a different room, a different bed. Faces surrounded her in white coats. There were too many of them now. Her overtaxed sensory system stopped interpreting what she saw correctly and the entire room dissolves into grotesque smears and distorted sounds. She squeezed her eyes closed and covered her ears with her hands.

Silence returned. She opened her eyes up and the room had emptied except for the Doctor and two silent, white clad orderlies. Now the silence was overpowering so the Doctor's speech was a welcome sensation.

"Mileena," said the Doctor, standing in front of her with his hands woven behind his back. "I have created this physical rehabilitation program to allow you to regain use of your body. You sustain significant physical deterioration while attach the bioneural console, so we must work to counteract that. In addition, the program will help restore sensory function and memory. This may take time, of course, but you cannot rush healing."

Holodeck. She remembered that terminology. And transporter. That one too. In her tiny limited mind she saw the bioneural pathways that once accompanied those words. She had been able to see where the power conduits ran to the individual transmitters in the holodeck, into the pattern buffer, and out into the world. Now her knowledge was falling apart like a sand castle in the face of a wave and she was left only with her human understanding, an awful paucity in the face of previous bounty. She began to names sensations even if she did not truly understand them. Panic. Rage. Futility.

"So I am trapped."

His face softened. "Yes, you will be confined to the holodeck. But it is a fully functioning program. You will be permitted to walk around the grounds and receive visitors as you wish. I know many of them are anxious to see you." His voice altered in a way she did not recognize as his attempt at levity and hope.

Having friends had become foreign as well. There is only self and non-self. The concepts of the world around her came and went, the words for what was around her came and went. Part of her desperately wanted to find a way to break out of this place and to reengage with the wiring tantalizingly behind those walls.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you will remain in the holodeck or be confined to quarters until the captain states otherwise." He rocked backward slightly. "For now, though, we must attend to more simple matters."

A small figure with splotches running down its face appeared with an object on another moving object. It was a table with a cup and straw on it, she put together. It was moved within distance of her hand.

"Pick this up," said the small figure. A link was made. It was a Trill, Mileena recognized, and the little glimmering of self within her reminded her that she too shared that name. But only partially.

Mileena focused hard on her arm and where the probes should have been. That empty sensation overwhelmed her as she realized she could not ask her arms to move through any means but her own neural connections. She used her mind to cautiously order her arm towards the cup, but she succeeded only in knocking it over as she failed to coordinate her elbow with her hand. Orange, sweet smelling liquid spilled out of it and dripped off the table onto the yellowing tiled floor. The spill immediately vanished as the holodeck restored the cup to its full and upright position

"That's okay. Try again." The Trill figure's voice was a pale green, one that Mileena found not unpleasant. So Mileena moved her arm once more and was able to bring her hand to rest next to the cup. Then she slowly slid her hand along the tabletop, willing her fingers open into a curve that she thought approximated the circumference of the cup. Again she miscalculated and knocked it over once more

She pulled her hand back and dropped it in her lap. "I do not wish to do this any longer. Return me to the computer and reattach me to my nutrition source."

"That is not on the itinerary," said the Doctor. "Today we are going to get you to drink a cup of orange nutritional supplement. You will feel hungry now that you no longer have the biobeds attending to your needs. It is against my professional ethics to starve someone into compliance. But if that is how we initiate your treatment, so be it."

She blinked a few times at him and looked at the cup again. She would need to learn to handle this frail human body until she found a way to return to the machinery. As of right now, the diagnostic part of herself recognize she could not handle the bioneural console even if she wanted. So she would comply.

With a trembling arm, she reached out once more.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Seven of Nine sat on the chair opposite the half-Trill within the ensign's small, cluttered quarters. The ensign's roommate Mariah bustled about and seemed quite reluctant to leave both Seven and Mileena alone, staunchly refusing to obey Seven's commands for privacy. Seven, finding herself unable to evict the troublesome extra stimulus from the room, attempted to hold a conversation while someone nearby sang songs and folded clothing more loudly than the Borg thought possible without actively screaming.

The ensign looked shriveled and brittle, with her bronze skin taking on a sickly grey-green undertone and her yellow eyes reflecting instead a muddy brown. The fibrous tissue that previously encased the external ports on her arms was pruned away and the flesh-colored caps were carefully bonded into place, but it was a surface alteration. The ports had become so integral to the ensign's nervous system that the Doctor feared removing them would cause permanent damage to her nerves. Similarly the internal segment of the skull transmitter now housed swaths of glial tissue, knots of neurons, and countless new synapses. The transmitters reading from her motor areas were no longer mere antennae, designed to exert finer control of her neural ports and the bioneural gel. They were now part of her brain, though with a function they had not discovered yet. The Doctor disabled the external transmitters but was unwilling to pry them off Mileena's skull. The potential for irrecoverable brain damage outweighed any reservations the captain had about keeping visible implants on her crewmember.

So in this way the Borg and the half-human were the same. They would always be linked to the computers that had served as their home. They could not be returned to humanity without killing them.

"Ensign, how are you functioning," said Seven. This had been the first opportunity they had to talk and the Doctor had suggested that inquiring after the older woman's health would provide a suitable entry into conversation.

"I've been ripped out of everything that I cared about and I am forced to live my life confined to a single brain while being denied access to the work I have spent so many years developing. The problem is, I can't remember what I was doing or how and why I was doing it. My memory is full of gaps and the skills I once had have been replaced by empty space. So how do you think I am functioning?"

The Borg briefly considered this answer. The Doctor had said that the ensign might express some sort of negative emotion but Seven did not anticipate this particular assessment. According to the Doctor, the ensign had made sufficient progress to leave the holodeck rehabilitation program and live in crew quarters once more. He failed to mention her recovery had been primarily physical and sensory, not emotional or intellectual. Perhaps he felt it was unnecessary given how little emotion Seven tended to express. She did not appreciate the omission.

"I am…sorry you are feeling this way," said the Borg, feeling the term completely inadequate.

"Yes, well, I would certainly be sorry if someone decided to cut parts of you off and leave you as a bleeding stump, but it would not fix anything."

The Borg regarded Mileena through a silver capped blue eye and the Ensign return her stare with eyes of dull yellow. The half-Trill was delivering her conversation in a flat monotone completely out of line with her words. Her body had curved in on itself, a way of screening out a world she no longer understood. Seven accessed her own memories from her first days on Voyager and saw the same signs, the same fear and confusion, displayed in front of her.

"Mileena," said Seven, "I… know how you feel. When I was severed from the Collective, I saw myself as one of many who was suddenly alone. It took time to readjust to my oneness," reflected Seven.

That time in her life was one marked by exceptional turmoil and difficult self-discovery. She remembered the many disputes, and outright physical confrontations, that had marked her integration into Voyager's crew. She found the memories painful and pushed them aside as she continued, in her own understated way.

"It was a challenging process."

Mileena had no rebuttal. Instead, she tilted her head forward and let a few black ringlets fall across her shoulders. From this angle, Seven could see the thick swath of tissue from which tiny diodes still projected. They were silent now and not whirring in the blue pattern that Mileena preferred when interacting with the bioneural gel. The ensign took one elegant palm and rubbed it across her forearm. She pressed her light brown skin and knowingly exposed the deep bumps that represented the immovable hardware still anchored to her body.

"I am sorry," said the ensign quietly. "Of all people on the ship, you are the one who understands most intimately what I am experiencing. In fact I should be ashamed to compare the month I spent with the computers with the lifetime you spent in the Collective."

"There is nothing to apologize for." In fact, it had not occurred to Seven to judge Mileena Relative suffering and worthiness thereof was something she had not learned to care about. Something was in pain. That was generally unacceptable.

"In some ways, I envy you," said the ensign, feeling her way down her left arm and pushing the skin down unto the metal beneath. "You are no longer near the Collective and you cannot become part of them again. But all around me, I know the computers are there. If I asked them to tell me where something is, they will still answer me. I just can't reach them anymore and I worry the temptation will be too much."

She looked beseechingly at the Borg, who found herself sympathetic and concerned. "How do I do this," the older woman said, suddenly even looking more frail and distressed that she had just moments ago. "How do I not need to be part of them anymore?"

Seven considered this carefully. There was no easy answer, though she wanted to create one to spare Mileena the painful transition back to a solitary life. Empathy, she believed the Doctor called it, was driving her. It was a pleasing, yet painful, emotion. "You will return to work and find other ways to fill your time. You will reestablish social interactions," said Seven thoughtfully. "In time, the need will lessen."

The ensign gave a tired sigh and didn't return Seven's gaze. She fidgeted with the edges of her dress and drew a fingernail around one sealed implant. "I seriously doubt that talking to other humanoids will replace merging with two all-encompassing entities."

"That is correct. But there are many things the computer cannot provide," observed Seven, undeterred by Mileena's logic. "It lacks emotion. It lacks appreciation for art. It lacks the ability to interact physically. These are all things that humanity is fond of and that you have previously enjoyed. In time, you will enjoy them again."

"But I will always want to return, won't I? Did you try, I mean, after you left the Collective?"

Seven looked at the scientist curiously. Mileena had been on Voyager at the time of seven's arrival. Certainly she would have encountered the turmoil Seven had inflicted on the ship during Seven's attempts to reach the collective.

"Do you not recall that I took over the ship in an effort to contact the Collective?" Seven left out the part where she knocked Harry Kim unconscious. Rediscovering her humanity included regaining embarrassment and shame; she would never be able to apologize enough for injuring him even if at the time it was the correct course of action. Or so she thought.

"Not completely, no. Like I said, my mind is fragmented. I know the word Collective and I know you were once Borg. I understand you have implants like mine. But how we found you is missing. How I got on Voyager is missing."

That was something Seven also had experienced. Her childhood had been wiped away by Borg conditioning and it took several painful dreams for her to reawaken her knowledge completely.

"Your memory will return. It will merely take some time." Seven found the conversation increasingly distressing. Her emotional capability is not enough to process both her own painful history and whatever the ensign was experiencing. She wished very much to return to astrometrics to work on something more concrete and less difficult.

The tall Borg rose to leave and handed a padd to the ensign. "This is a list of departments that are interested in having you participate since you are no longer fit to work on the bioneural console." Seven regretted the remark since the ensign visibly winced at the reminder.

"That does not mean you will never be able to work with the bioneural gel again. It just means that in your previous capacity…" Seven noted the ensign had stopped listening to her. Mileena ran her fingers along the smooth surface of the pad and scanned it with her eyes. Seven noticed that they did not move in the way that suggested reading. Instead, the ensign's gaze flickered from place to place. The remnants of color drained out of the ensign's face she handed the padd back to Seven. "I cannot accept any of these assignments," she said quietly. "It seems I can no longer read."

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

It was a painful and embarrassing discovery for Mileena to recognize that her time in the computer had eliminated one of the fundamental aspects of her career and her personhood. According to the Doctor's assessment, she had rearranged her cortex so that the areas once devoted to language recognition were repurposed when she stopped using words. Her ability to understand spoken language returned quickly, he hypothesized, because it was more instinctual for her to hear. His reassurance that her skill would return in time did nothing to assuage fears that she would be left illiterate permanently. She wasn't sure how sarcastic he was when he indicated that the holodeck had a variety of kindergarten teachers who could guide her through the learning of basic skill.

As a result, the day she met with Chakotay to formally discuss her reinstatement was far more awkward than either had anticipated. During her prolonged convalescence, Chakotay was her most frequent visitor, more often than the people she had considered her deepest friends. His presence was non-threatening and undemanding. Unlike everyone else who came to see her, he wasn't expecting her to reply in a certain way or go back to her old self. He showed neither disappointment nor overt judgment. He was willing to sit and listen to her complain or update her on Voyager's progress as she requested. Just what she needed.

Mileena wanted to return to duty, though, to silence the nagging desire to plunge the probes back through her skin and dissolve herself in the welcoming embrace of the machinery. So she asked what she could do without reading. Chakotay said he would ask the captain before giving her a firm response. A day later he returned with Janeway's distant blessing. They would find a place for Mileena on Voyager even if she could no longer be part of proteomics for the time being.

Sickbay was a nominal choice, as her ability to administer basic care was based more on her ability to follow directions than on her ability to read medications or write diagnoses. She just couldn't stomach more than a few hours with the Doctor before his supercilious sneer began to bear down on the back of her neck.

Thus, she spent the rest of her duty time with Neelix. After all, he created all of the food via his encyclopedic knowledge of cooking materials and flavor combinations, never using a written recipe unless it was personally handed to him by a member of the crew. Even then, the resulting dish would have more than a few modifications and usually resembled its intended dish in name only. The brilliantly hued Talaxian was overjoyed to have her in his kitchen. He hadn't had an assistant in years and was glad to delegate some of the more tedious chopping and stirring tasks so that he could pursue culinary perfection. Yet unlike the Doctor, Mileena never felt like she was in the way or looked down upon.

She gained a routine. Every morning, she would rise an hour before alpha shift to help Neelix prepare the kitchen, at which point she would eat breakfast and quickly return to Sickbay so she wouldn't have to face most of the crew. She would spend the next five or six hours in Sickbay, attending to crewmembers who suffered various ailments from ending up at the wrong end of a ruptured plasma conduit to gravely underestimating some alien while on an away mission. During downtime, she monitored and adjusted the equipment as much as she could without needing to read the output. The biobeds had never been so well-maintained in their entire history, nor had unusual cures been so thoroughly mixed.

Shortly before the end of alpha shift, she returned to the mess hall for dinner preparations. Again, she would retreat, spending some time eating alone in a corner. At the end of the day, she would have a meeting with Chakotay or Seven to discuss her progress. And then, she would go back to her quarters, where she would pull out a rudimentary book of language and attempt to bend her brain once again around the characters she had once found so comforting. Simple words were now coming together but otherwise she had lost the languages she once loved.

Absent from her routine, though, were all of the people she had called her friends. They made entreaties but she rebuffed them, confused. They held all these emotions that she was expected to reciprocate but didn't know how. They seem so tangled and she no longer knew how to respond. Her friends were understanding, of course, when she explained just that. Some seemed hurt. Some did not. They all gave her time…but time was passing and she was no closer to being herself.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

It was the meatloaf that provided the breakthrough. Mileena had been helping Neelix craft one of his more elaborate spreads to celebrate a successful trade mission. They had procured several kilograms of actual meat instead of the replicated and vaguely flavored protein they had gotten for so many months. She stood there, folding the ingredients one after another into the brown mass, when she looked down and cocked her head at what she was making. She took in a long breath and coughed, the spices tingling the inside of her nose.

Neelix noticed, as he often did with things out of the ordinary, and approached her. He placed a ridged hand on her shoulder and inquired, "Is something wrong, Mileena? I don't think you are allergic to the spices like Tuvok is."

There was a certain amount of levity in his voice, but it was calculated to give her an opening for whatever she needed to say.

"You fed this to me, didn't you," she said, slow wonder crawling into her voice. She heard in her mind fragments of conversation, far away but moving closer. "You told Alice that there were always too many leftovers of the meatloaf. You wondered whether there was resistance to the texture or the spice combination."

His face beamed and Mileena found herself smiling back, her face relaxing into an emotion that felt natural, as if it were something she was supposed to do. His voice rushed to her.

"That's right," he exclaimed, then dropped his voice conspiratorially. "Do you remember anything else?"

She looked at him and then looked around the kitchen. "I…don't know. There's just something about the smell of the food."

That triggered a transformation in the ebullient Talaxian. He pushed aside the meatloaf and began throwing ingredients into pot after pot, mixing and stirring and occasionally calling her over to slice or hold or breathe. That night's dinner was even more eclectic than normal, leading to an unusually large number of complaints filed with the senior staff. Neelix didn't care. He made those dishes and fed them one after another to his assistant.

And it worked. Some combination of scent and taste triggered deep connections that had formed whenever he had walked into proteomics and chatted with her as he poured the leftovers into the dialyzer. She had not tasted anything, of course, but there was abstract pleasure in receiving nourishment that had become unconsciously associated with the scent of the food. Triggering that pathway brought with it not only that enjoyment but also the one sided conversations Neelix had with her.

One night, after he had forced her to devour what he said was the thing she ate most often, she opened up a book. Neelix sat next to her, steaming mug of some Talaxian brew in hand, and leaned close to her as she said in a trembling voice, "See spot. See spot run. Run spot, run." He stayed with her until they finished the book and then send her back to her quarters, his smile encompassing both of them. Using the voice program that still responded to her as if she were locked in the machine, she made sure to note to the commander that Neelix deserved a commendation for doing no one else on the ship could do: bring her memory.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

The dreams had come, of course, now that her human self was being uncovered. The fire and ice, emptiness and grief, screams and cries. She woke sweating and confused. Her roommate Mariah, once again her constant companion, would rush to her side and wake her. Mileena wasn't sure Mariah resented the intrusion into her sleep, though there wasn't much either could do. Two weeks before, Mariah's boyfriend had broken up with her unceremoniously and left her with nowhere else to stay but her former quarters. Mileena figured Mariah would get sick of rooming with somebody who is currently in the throes of a psychological crisis, but the former Maquis soldier did not blanch in the face of raw emotion and was not rebuffed when Mileena attempted to send her away.

But the dreams were merely a prelude to what she began to experience in her waking life. The voices around her began to trigger cascades of memories. She remembered hearing their voices talking to her in the machine, which chained to memories of their talking to her before that, in poker games and arguments, in celebrations and in funerals. She cautiously reintroduced herself to their lives, trying to find where she could be now that she had heard them as both friend and computer.

With reluctance and fear she had contacted her spirit guide, whose bulk seemed unfamiliar yet whose gaze was knowing. She hadn't been able to concentrate very long, but with his trunk he had drawn shapes in the sand and when she awoke, she recognized them as letters of the Trill alphabet. That, too, began to return.

And so it was that two memories rose unbidden from the depths of her unconscious while she was sitting and eating in her quarters. The meat was especially tough and she was struggling mightily with her knife, enough that she debated getting a phaser to slice it…or vaporize it. As she failed to wrestle her meal into submission, her hand slipped and she drew a thin line of blood across her fingertip. The dull red fluid spread itself across her chestnut colored skin and she remembered sitting in the machine, feeling that same sticky wetness running down her face and dripping onto her neck.

It had been the hallucination, she remembered, that finally drove her to push the gain to its maximum. The feeling of one last beating at the hands of her wife, and the words that came with them. As always, she had been brutal and efficient at breaking Mileena down. Datossel's words about their unending love, Datossel's cruelty, Datossel's care. Datossel's truth. Mileena dropped her meal to the floor as she physically recoiled. The time she spent cleaning up did little to settle her mind and she fled to the holodeck, finding a program, any program, that would wash away the fear. She eventually settled on a massive wildlife preserve she had once seen on Betazoid. The trees and animals mingling in front of her did little to distract her and so she filled it with hundreds of visitors whose voices tried to drown out the terrible visions.

Apparently, the largest databank of random inhabitants included Alice's conglomeration of dance club visitors. To her surprise, Tuvok and the captain stood looking at…the giraffes? She heard the two of them talking about nothing in particular, their words being filled in as a script about the differences between Vulcan and human fauna.

Then the second memory came, the one in which Tuvok and the captain had entered her mind and brought her back to herself with words of care and compassion. She remembered the captain's emotions filling her head and the beauty of the captain's words and the captain's feelings. Mileena recognized that since Mileena's disconnection from the computers, the captain had not been avoiding her. She had just been waiting for the two of them to be alone to initiate their conversations. Except if it was a mistake, which was not impossible.

After an anguished internal debate, she contacted the Vulcan chief of security, and arranged for what she hoped would be an extremely brief, extremely productive conversation. She anticipated the meeting would be pushed some point in the future but to her surprise, he invited her to one of the small conference rooms on deck five at the end of alpha shift.

When she arrived, he was already there, a padd to his left that he perused until the doors slid closed behind her and she addressed him. "Lieutenant."

"Ensign Irae. I see you wish to talk."

No smalltalk, she reminded herself. That was one of the nice things about Vulcans. "Did you and the captain engage in a mind meld with me while I was in the machine?"

He raised a pointed Vulcan eyebrow. "You remember."

"To some extent."

"So you have questions."

She wasn't quite sure what to say. Much of her initial planned out conversation had been convincing the Vulcan to divulge the particulars of his interactions with the captain. Now that that particular line of questioning was not required, she found herself at a loss.

"Do I recall correctly that the captain expressed certain emotions," she ventured, hoping the vagueness of the term would not lead the Vulcan to believe or suspect anything had he not already been informed about the captain's feelings about her.

That was his turn to hesitate and he folded his hands neatly on the table between them. "While in the mind meld, the captain showed you her true romantically-inclined feelings and you reciprocated them."

"I see," she said. So he was aware and suddenly everything was more awkward because they were now talking about the personal life of the captain. She contemplated her options, all of which made her feel like an idiot for even opening this line of communication. However, Tuvok was here now and she might as well keep asking. The worst that he could do was say that it was no longer appropriate and leave.

"Do you believe she said those things truly or as a way to encourage my disconnection from the machine?"

"The two are not mutually exclusive," he said calmly. "I believe that she demonstrated the emotions she held as a way of indicating that you did not need to remain in the machines to feel a connection."

Mileena paused. Janeway had come to visit, first in the holodeck and later when she was confined to quarters. There was expectation and anticipation in the captain's warm and steady voice, but it fell away as Mileena struggled to recall just what happened between the two of them. Clearly the captain expected some sort of dialogue, especially when the captain spoke passionately about the role of humanity and the importance of being oneself. But early on words were still so hard for Mileena that she could mount no discussion or defense, not as Seven had when she left the Borg. Janeway never betrayed frustration at the ensign's lack of responsiveness and changed her approach to be more simplistic and supportive. The visits dropped off and the emotions, whatever they were, remained buried on both their parts.

"Do you believe she still holds those feelings?"

"It would be inappropriate for me to speculate," he replied. "Though I do believe if you were to approach her, you could discuss this freely."

Mileena shook her head. Emotions were still out of focus for her. Not as foreign as they would be to a Vulcan but certainly not as deep as she had once felt.

"I do not know how to approach her, Lieutenant. I'm certain that my failure to interact with her has deterred her from initiating a relationship with me."

"That is likely," he confirmed. "But not because she would not welcome it. The captain respects personal autonomy and the healing process far too much to bring her own needs into consideration. The decision to generate a connection, or not, is in your hands."

"I see," was all Mileena could answer. "I will give this some thought. Thank you, Lieutenant Tuvok."

He rose stiffly. "You are welcome. I must return to my duties on the bridge. I will note in my log that you are regaining your memories and that we should discuss soon your continuing work on the console in the near future. You are dismissed."

He left her sitting there and she felt very foolish for talking to him, even though their conversation had been fruitful. It was one of those cases where she couldn't find solace in her room for the rest of the day. Instead, she wrapped herself up in the Erato garments and slipped into a holodeck. This time, she conjured up the most elaborate aquarium she could think of. But instead of members of Voyager, she was careful to specify that the guests should all be unfamiliar. She let the cacophony of voices drown her again and lost her attention watching the schools of fish ripple around her like the shapes behind her eyes once did.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Janeway sat in her ready room and pushed the pads around on her desk, sighing. Sisyphus would have pitied her as she struggled against the constant onslaught of personnel reports. The end of every reporting cycle resulted in yet another cascade of evaluations and admonishments as changes in crew roster necessitated further adjustments in position. The ensigns' names began to run together and she wondered if they wouldn't all be better served by her throwing a handful of darts at various locations on the ship for their duty assignments.

So she welcomed the beeping distraction of her security officer and good friend. She tilted her porcelain-colored head to meet his gaze and smiled widely, gesturing with an open palm towards the chair opposite hers.

"Tuvok," she said, "I'm glad to see you." A mischievous air insinuated its way into her voice. "I don't suppose you've come to relieve me of these interminable reports."

"Alas, Captain, that is one of the few duties I am not equipped to undertake," he said returning her humor in a dry display of wit. He slid into the chair and leaned back.

She gave a sigh of pretend exasperation. "Well, then, I guess I'll just have to fight through. So tell me, Tuvok, what can I do for you?"

His dark eyes searched the curves of her face and she found herself more somber as he brought together his thoughts. "I believe we need to discuss what occurred during the mind meld."

Janeway bent her head towards her desk and covered her face with her hand. He had been there, after all, when she had divulged her feelings to Mileena and he had certainly felt the rush of the young woman's emotions they were returned. But he had also seen that since Mileena's detachment, the ensign had been unreceptive to the captain's overtures of companionship. She had lost her memory and, according to Neelix and the Doctor, was only now regaining it. Whether that included their kiss or the mind meld was not a question Janeway wished to ask.

"I don't know what there is to discuss," Janeway said listlessly. Then threw her hands up. "She and I shared an emotional connection that she apparently does not remember."

He didn't respond when she stood, then began pacing. "I have turned over in my mind 100 times whether I would've done the same for any crewmember and of course, Tuvok, I thought I had." She moved around her rug, looking towards the small decorations that she had arrayed so carefully as a way of breaking the monotony of her office. Little reminders of home and her place as a woman, as a person who was not a captain. Sometimes she felt that they were totems left behind as a reminder of an ancient practice she could no longer undertake.

"Yet would I have made the same decision if Mileena were," she fumbled for a word that seemed appropriate, "My paramour? Could I have asked someone I loved to sacrifice herself in that way or made the decision to disrupt her in a way that could have killed her?"

Tuvok followed her agitation with his calm, dark gaze. His hands folded on his lap and his posture became rigid. Yet when he addressed her, he was not unkind. "Like all humans, you are ruled by your emotions and you often find them at odds with the logical execution of your decisions. However, Captain, I have never known you to push aside what is right for Voyager in favor of what is right for you personally or to betray your command with your emotions."

Janeway let his words settle over her and she did another loop and searched for some conclusive response in the planet orbited outside. She ran thin fingers through the flow of her hair and shook her head.

"It is not appropriate for me to have these feelings. I am the captain of the ship and I cannot let anything come between me and that duty."

"I assure you, Captain, your feelings for Mileena will not interfere with your function as our leader. You are far too invested in this crew and this mission to let anything compromise your judgment. Therefore, it is not logical for you not to act on your emotions. You are, after all, only human."

Janeway smirked and sat down on the edge of her desk. She smiled wanly at her security officer. "Tuvok, I believe that is the most backhanded compliment ever paid to me. And perhaps you're right, perhaps I will be able to dissociate my personal life from my duties here on Voyager. But she will never have my entire attention. I will always be putting Voyager above her."

"I do not disagree. However, there are few others on the ship who recognize the depth of the roles they need to play in preserving Voyager's mission."

She sighed and put her marble colored hand on Tuvok's charcoal hued arm. "I can't argue with her logic, Tuvok, but it's all moot. She doesn't remember. Not me, not us…"

He did not disturb her arm or did he move to increase the contact. He looked her in the face and met his obsidian eyes with her sapphire ones, speaking words that conjured instant hope. "That is no longer the case."

Through their brief interactions since the disconnection of the bioneural console, Mileena had given no indication that she would not welcome the captain's presence. Neither had she signaled, though, that she would enjoy the captain's being close to her again. The desperate, all-encompassing loneliness the young woman had displayed when disconnected from the machines ripped at Kathryn's heart, yet somehow she could not bring herself to extend even a brief display of warmth or affection once it was clear that Mileena no longer wanted the captain's company. That was what she had believed until Tuvok set her right.

She put aside her doubt and triggered the opening mechanism on the holodeck door. Her first impression was of how loud and how blue the interior seemed. She took a few steps into the cacophonous crowd of aliens from every stretch of Federation space, hearing the doors closed and sealed behind her then looked around. She smiled and watched in wonder as a school of the thousand brightly colored tropical fish swam over her head, followed by an impossibly large stingray and an even larger hammerhead shark, who was surprisingly docile in spite of the veritable buffet around it. Her pleased response was mirrored by the many children standing near the walls of the aquarium, who were barely prevented from banging on the glass to summon more fish by their watchful parents. She walked a little farther through the tube of glass, marveling at the arching coral reefs and aquatic outcroppings that were merely inches away from the guests around her. She wasn't sure if this was based on any aquarium in particular, or whether the program was a conglomerate of sites on many worlds. Regardless, it was breathtaking and she understood why Mileena might choose to spend her time here.

As Janeway pushed through the massive crowd, she caught little snippets of conversation about the fish, but also about news events, science, art, and even the workings of Voyager itself. She heard a conversation about advances in dilithium crystals segue neatly into one about advanced techniques and martial arts. Another school of fish passed around her, eliciting a squeal of delight from a nearby Klingon child, and Janeway could have sworn she saw a blue whale somewhere in the distance. The sensory input was becoming overwhelming, and Janeway realized, likely by design. This environment, with its dynamic, brilliantly colored visual input and a stream of seemingly unrelated voices and sound, was as close as Mileena could come to what she experienced within the machine. Though the Doctor and Seven of Nine reassured the captain that Mileena was not in danger of integrating herself into the machine once more, it was clear the half Trill missed what she had been when she was part of Voyager circuitry.

Janeway walked further, tangled in the tour groups and informative lectures that made up the seemingly endless aquarium. It was becoming frustrated and she was tempted to discontinue the entire program in order to talk to the ensign. Instead, she the eye of the woman in tightly pressed black pants and a crisp white shirt, whose fish-embossed name tag read "Sarah".

"Excuse me," said Janeway, approaching the holographic security guard. "I was wondering if you could help me. I am looking for my…crewmember. She is about 1.7 meters tall…"

"You are Captain Janeway of the starship Voyager," observed the hologram. "I will take you to Mileena."

So the hologram knew who Mileena was. Was that from her time in the console or was that an interesting side effect of Alice's program? Janeway followed through a few more corridors until she was ushered into a domed room absolutely teeming with aquatic and humanoid life. In the midst of the visitors was an octagonal wooden bench, on which sat the crosslegged figure of Mileena. The older woman rested the base of her palms on her knees, her expression calm and distant, not as peaceful as she was within her machines but enough that she no longer threatened to rip apart. Her cascading black curls arrayed themselves messily around her rounded shoulders. White ripples of water were reflected on her face, shadows passing through them as the fish blocked the artificial light streaming in from above the aquarium.

"Miss Mileena," said the hologram. "The captain is here to see you."

Mileena shifted over and arrayed herself so that there was space next to her on the slats of varnished hardwood. She said, by way of reply, "Computer. End program Alice four."

In a flash of dissipating light, the people around Janeway and Mileena vanished, leaving the two of them alone in the voluminous aquarium.

Janeway walked forward towards the ensign, who gestured a thin arm to the space beside her. "Captain. Welcome to my favorite aquarium."

"It is certainly beautiful," said Janeway._ Much like you are._ "Another one of Alice's program?"

"No," said Mileena with a warm smile that lit her brown features with a line of white. "Well, the people are Alice's but I built this myself. I find it very soothing."

Janeway had no interest in discussing the particulars of programming a holodeck. She wanted to approach the one topic they had been so desperate to discuss and then so desperate to ignore. She sat down on the bench and looked deeply into the troubled citrine of the ensign's eyes.

"Mileena. Tuvok tells me you remember what I said during our mind meld." The ringlets of the older woman in front of her bobbed with the tilted acknowledgment of her head.

Janeway waited for a response and then a bit more, gathering her nerve.

"I want to let you know that I still feel that way. I still want to see where this relationship can take both of us."

Mileena didn't respond and she reached out a hesitant hand towards the captain. Janeway let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and wrapped her palm around Mileena's fingers. They sat in quiet as a school of silverfish changed direction above them and threw shadows of their passing into spirals on the floor.

"Captain," said Mileena, her voice measured and each syllable straining against itself. Janeway realized she was about to be let down very gently, which had been the most likely outcome all along. "There is nothing more than I would like to do than explore what it means to be with you. But I still have to heal. The computers…the Botha…there is still so much I need to process. It isn't fair for me to be with you when I can give you only a part of who I am."

Janeway recognized the line. It was the one she had been feeding to Tuvok when she was detailing all the reasons she shouldn't be with Mileena. Hell, it was the line she's used after their first kiss in Mileena's quarter. Hearing the excuses, specifically lack of time and dedication, made her realize that particular reason was not acceptable.

"I am happy to give you all the space that you need as your captain, your friend, or something more." Mileena smiled in a way that made Kathryn's heart swell and flutter. "But Mileena, you don't have to give me all of yourself right now. Share the parts that you have. I will be happy to have them and to learn about them."

The smile chased itself away and Mileena looked back towards the curving glass of the aquarium. She didn't withdraw her hand but the captain felt it go limp. "I'm going to need time captain. I don't know how much longer it will take me to come back to who I was or even if that's possible. I don't want you to wait for someone who may not return."

"We have both waited this long, Mileena. I would never want to push you farther than you are ready to go. However you choose to do this, I will be here."

By way of response, Mileena reinitiated the population program and the two were surrounded once again by the holographic voices and figures. The half Trill inched closer and leaned gently on Kathryn's arm in a gesture of guarded affection. Janeway resisted the urge to bend down and kiss her forehead. Instead, she squeezed their hands once more. They sat in silence until the end of the shift, at which point Mileena excused herself with the comment, "Breakfast tomorrow, captain? 0600 hours? Neelix and I will be making eggs."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," said Kathryn with a wide grin. Mileena smiled once more and left the holodeck.

/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\/¯\

Epilogue:

The Botha homeworld was burning. The first attack by their own ships had been brief but devastating. In the few hours it took to break the mental hold created by the repurposed technology, the brainwashed crew of the capital ships had managed to destroy not only the main shipyard but also many of the orbital platforms that served as staging grounds for the robotic attacks. Even worse, these crews had deployed mind control technology on other smaller vessels that had immediately warped away to attack their own colonies.

Then came the force of inferior races taking their vengeance for the Botha's years of subjugation and exploitation. Botha colonies that had served as outposts to exert control were now liabilities as the attackers rolled through, stopping at each colony to strip away limited defenses and take control of robotic drones they turned against the terrified colonists. The great secret of the Botha race was there absolute dependence on mind control to defend themselves. With that technology compromised, there was nothing they could do.

Thus it had not taken long before a multitude of races ringed the Botha's home planet and subjected the cowering people below to bombardment before demanding their unconditional surrender. With eventual genocide on the horizon, the Botha were preparing to accept.

Within the crumbling vestiges of the capital, the Botha ambassador had barricaded himself into the formal office that contains the trophies from every race he had tricked and overpowered. The space he had confidently reserved for a piece of Voyager sat empty and he fixated on it as he prepared a handful of pills that would allow him a ritualized, if cowardly, exit from his problems. After all, the alternative was being placed on trial by his livid people for encountering and engaging the agent of their collective demise.

He rued the day he had ever encountered Voyager. He replayed to the taunts he had subjected Captain Janeway to the empty promises of her defeat rung in his ears. He thought of the minds he had twisted on that ship and how they had nonetheless thrown off his influence, with the power of the captain and the woman who loved her combined to absolutely crush him and his people. He thought of his own mind, easily overridden and forced to attack his own people at what was to be his long-awaited moment of triumph.

Another round of bombs shook the building and the mantelpiece containing the empty plaque fell down, littering the floor with bits of wood and metal. He gulped down the pills and sat in his chair, listening to the clattering of soldiers running down the hall to drag him out. His last thoughts were of Kathryn Janeway, the woman who defeated the Botha Empire.


End file.
